


hush.

by Wankerville



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Small Town, American Football, Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, LMAO, M/M, Passive suicide attempts, Rimming, Suicidal Thoughts, Verbal bullying, a scene where they talk about tea, and im way too lazy to change that so yiKes, basically louis hangs out on top of this bridge a lot, but for some reason i changed it half way thru writing it, feminine!harry, like there's only one scene that goes past verbal, originally this wasnt going to be set in america, quarterback!louis, so theres like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7313593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wankerville/pseuds/Wankerville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don't like you like that, Harry.”</p><p>“See,” Harry starts, Louis can hear the smile in his voice, “that's where I think you're lying.”</p><p> </p><p>or an au where small towns suck, louis is losing it, and harry’s just too perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hush.

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Hush. (Traduction française)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7823704) by [acupoflouis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acupoflouis/pseuds/acupoflouis)



> lmao hii guys how about that weather
> 
> anyway.... this fic was only supposed to be like 8k and i was originally writing it because i had a lot of feelings for a person i needed to get out and for some reason it turned into 40k like wtf no stop this i didnt care that much i doNt care that much ???/.;eg?? i used bullying and the guilt/shame feelings as tools for my actual feelings and experiences tho so this isn't like, accurate representation of anything but it's still extremely personal and im like weirdly proud of this piece.
> 
> idk tho like does the fandom even read fics anymore are we still alive who knows pls enjoy
> 
> oH, this is also unedited,,, all mistakes are mine,,, and there wilL BE mistakes. feel free to point them out to me so i can fix them or dont and just let them sit there and fester until they correct themselves, idk. 
> 
> snapchat/tumblr: wankerville

  


Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.

James Baldwin

  


________________________________________

  
  


_Cold._

 

It's the only thought that is able to push through the constant white noise of melancholy playing again and again in his head.

 

_So this is how it's going to be._

 

He laughs bitterly, though it sounds more like a sigh of defeat, of surrender. He raises his hand and twirls it in mock joke, little white flag waving invisibly through the crisp autumn air.

 

His dirty shoes scuff the pavement beneath him, leaves crunch; in the distant he can hear the roar of cars, to and from places much more important than where he's going.

 

_Cold. Dark. Empty._

 

The backroad into the country is especially all those things, as is the way he feels. There are no lights out this way, just the black road, trees, and telephone poles. Some feet ahead is a bridge over a rushing river. That’s it.

 

Where he’s going.

  


________________________________________

  
  


Louis Tomlinson is eighteen. A senior. He's in the leadership program at his high school and has three scholarships with more to come for college. He's got a mum and a step-dad, an army of little sisters and one little brother.

 

He's star quarterback and co-captain of the football team, they've gone to state twice in the four years he's played, and even won once. He's also a shortstop in baseball, the best on the team, got put varsity sophomore year.

 

He's popular and athletically talented. He values his grades, all A’s and B’s (and one C in math, but it's his weak spot.) He's truly adored by his classmates and teachers, is a name everyone around their small town knows.

 

He’s funny, hilarious even, if being voted class clown three years in a row is anything to go by (probably will be again this year if he gets through it.) He's been voted as most likely to become a pro-athlete three years in a row too, as well as the counterpart of cutest couple, a different girl each year.

 

So Louis Tomlinson is a lot of things. Loved, admired, talented.

 

But most of all, Louis Tomlinson is ashamed.

 

Living in a smaller town means everyone knows everyone. It means everyone is well-knit together, it means community is valued.

 

It means that there's little diversity, which means there's more conservatism than liberalism.

 

Children are raised going to church and never really experience the medley to emancipate their own thoughts and beliefs. They're just passed down from one generation to the next, little change, so little acceptance for ‘new’ and variance.

 

So Louis’ heard where people like him go. He's heard it so many times that he's built a home out of the words - tall and looming, with no windows or doors. Only the harsh words bouncing from wall to wall.

 

He hasn't just heard it, no, he's seen it, felt it. He watches the little tolerance unfold what feels like daily, sees the hatred, disgust. He feels the burning sting deep in his soul every time it happens, not to him but to others, because they are him.

 

They are.

 

He knows that watching boys, and thinking about boys, and liking boys- _god_ , liking boys as much as _he_  does- is not acceptable under the terms of where he lives, under the terms of his small community life held under hindered beliefs and values of generations that have expired.

 

There have been brave ones, though. Kids who have unashamedly come out and been themselves, stated their beliefs proudly, built up a courage unknown to Louis to come out and face the ridicule and hatred that this town offers to any thing or one who is different.

 

Louis wonders how they do it. How they can get out of bed and face the words and beatings that come. How they can still have hope shine in their eyes even after teachers have turned their eyes to what goes on in the hallways. How they don't crumble when the crude and half-grown comments are being made by not only immature teenagers but _adults_.

 

Louis often doesn't know if he's more ashamed that he's gay, or more ashamed that he can't be as brave as the others.

 

He just knows that it's there, heavy upon his shoulders, like bricks in his heart. It's the contempt that's going to make him sink below the frigid waters. It's the coward living in the shell of his admired exterior that's not going to be able to break the surface; gasping for breaths.

 

He’s drowning and no one knows it.

  


________________________________________

  
  


It's been on his mind for a while now. Months, really.

 

The bridge. The water. The cold, bleak water. The rocks - jagged - and the rapids - rushing.

 

_Jumping._

 

It's been on his mind since June.

 

June when the air was more humid than crisp. The sun was a bright, sweltering ball in the sky and Louis was miserable in the heat. Allergies ran as rampant as the out-of-school children and bumblebees, and there were dandelions. So many dandelions.

 

There's a boy in June.

 

A boy of peachy warmth and honey skin. The sun sets late in summer, the skies always smeared with clouds, pinks and oranges, love and warmth and so much heartache. God, the boy was all Louis could ever think about.

 

With his sweet summer love, gentle nectarine touch.

 

So many wasted daydreams of running barefoot in his grassy green eyes, in the cantaloupe sized courage he carries in his chest.

 

The same boy is Louis’ May, April, March - all the way back to the Halloween before the one coming up in a few weeks.

 

He’s tall. Long brown curls that broach his gorgeous and broad shoulders. He's got green eyes - they shine- and summer-tanned skin. When he smiles his cheeks dimple, and when he laughs it bellows out of him like happiness.

 

_Happiness._

 

Like a child's missing-tooth grin, like licking honey off of fingertips. Swingsets, apple slices, blanket forts.

 

Louis was at the farmers market, getting tomatoes for his mom. The boy he watches works there.

 

The boy, with his hair pulled back by a floral headscarf, also was in a white billowy t-shirt that dipped low on his chest, sleeves rolled up high on his shoulders, dirt smudges across the cotton. Louis’ mouth had gone dry fantasising about licking the sticky sweat on the boy's collarbones, his neck. He wondered if in the summer his skin tasted different, sweeter, maybe warmer.

 

(He remembers blushing, looking around to make sure no one could read his thoughts. He likes boys so much, he's always so scared someone will notice.)

 

The boy was smiling, ringing up a woman with her daughter by her side. Louis could faintly hear the boy’s low hum from where he was still looking in the tomato bin.

 

Louis remembers the woman asking if the boy would go pick out a watermelon for her, that she didn't know how to tell which ones were any good.

 

The boy beamed. Nodded. Of course he didn't mind. There wasn't one piece of the boy that wasn't give and love and help.

 

Louis remembers the feeling of something akin to picnic-loving heat rush over his body when he saw the boy in those light-washed jean shorts that were rolled up high on his thighs. The white sneakers on his feet with tender pink laces.

 

The boy brought two watermelons back to the woman. He put one down on the small counter. Then he proceeded- god, Louis remembers it so clearly- to kneel down in front of the little girl with the one he was still holding to show her and the woman how to tell whether a watermelon was ‘exceptionally above standard’ or not.

 

“See this one?” the boy had said, biting into his raspberry lip as he looked up at the woman, then back to the little daughter, “it's not a very good one.”

 

His nose wrinkled up as he said it.

 

“This one here, though,” he stood up and exchanged the watermelons, kneeling back down and holding it out, “is going to be delicious.”

 

“Here’s why: you see this spot right here? The nice yellow spot? That's its field spot. The more yellow a field spot, the more sweet and ripe. Also, ya’ hear this,” the boy knocked on the watermelon, “sounds good, huh? Nice and firm sound. Plus this guys nice and heavy. The heavier the more juicy.”

 

The little girl was smiling, nodding. She knocked on the watermelon like she understood all that the boy had said to her.

 

Louis’ heart melted that day. He blames the sun, the awful summer heat.

 

The boy rung the pair up, gave the little girl a fruit lolly for free, and sent them on their way with a smile.

 

Louis heard them as they walked by:

 

“I liked him, mommy. I wanna be like that when I get big!”

The mother scowled, “No you don’t, honey. He’s a _faggot_.”

The little girl's face furrowed in confusion, too young to know what the word meant, to know how deeply and wrongly it was rooted in hatred - in ignorance.

The little girl answered: “Oh.”

 

Louis’ blood boils over. Fists clench. _God_ , just thinking about that day gets him fucking _enraged_.

 

He remembers his hands shaking as he finished picking out tomatoes for his mother. Remembers his jaw clenching, breath feeling ragged, trying to stop himself from squeezing each tomato until they burst in his fuming fists.

 

_He remembers the boy as he was checking out._

 

His smile and how sweet it was. The gentle and bashful blush that came about his cheeks. So pretty. He blinked his big doe eyes, bit his lip, said with the most tender amount of enthusiasm, “Hiya, Lou.”

 

And Louis remembers himself. Rigid, shaking. His heart was pounding. When he set his produce down it was done so stiffly. “Uh, hey.”

 

(He remembers the boys smile faltering, eyebrows furrowing.

 

He remembers his lips. Hot, wet. The closet. Being pressed against him.

 

He remembers wishing he could be enough.)

 

“Did ya’ find everything alright?” He asked. So gentle. He was so gentle with everything, everyone, like he knew that human hearts were fragile things.

 

_Intelligent._

 

“Yeah.” He answered. Swallowed. Looked away. His hands twitched.

 

When he looked back, the boy was busy bagging up his stuff, ringing him up. He was biting the inside of his cheek, his eyebrows lined. No smile.

 

Louis slid the money onto the counter for him to take.

  


________________________________________

  
  


(Louis hated himself so much that day.

 

Louis hated everyone in his goddamn town that day, too.

 

Everyone but him, the boy.

 

_Harry.)_

  


________________________________________

  
  


When he handed the change back their fingers brushed and Louis flinched from the simple touch.

 

(His heart races just thinking about that moment.)

 

He sighed. Jaw locked. He shoved the money deep into his pockets, along with his ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ and ‘ _I never stop thinking about you_ ’ and ‘ _I think I love you_ ,’ and took his bag, turning on his heels with red cheeks.

 

“Have a nice day, Lou.” He heard softly behind him, sad and hesitant, full of a heartbreak that is too resistant to heal even with all the time in the world.

 

Louis didn't reply. He had sobs racking up in his throat.

 

The only evidence of that day is the hole in Louis’ bedroom wall where his fist met dry plaster.

 

His body was overwhelmed. Shaking. Shaking. He starts to shake just thinking about it. How fucking cruel people are. How weak he is. How much of a _coward_.

 

It's in June when Louis starts thinking about how much he doesn't want to live.

  


________________________________________

  


The downfall of Louis Tomlinson began on Halloween night, last year:

 

Curly hair. Green eyes. Harry Styles.

 

It was Halloween junior year and they were both at rich-Nicks Halloween party. Louis was dressed as a greaser, along with his best mate, Zayn, and a football mate, Liam, who were -- somewhere that night. He vaguely remembers two birds that caught their eyes.

 

He also remembers the contempt and bitterness he held for himself, angry _he_  couldn't just like girls too.

 

But then he saw him, Harry, and all those thoughts suddenly disappeared.

 

Harry was dressed as Minnie the mouse. Black mouse ears, pink button up shirt with white dots, a bow in his hair to match. Way too tight black jeans.

 

And it was confusing at the time because Louis _knew_  Harry, saw him every school day, and he never once felt like he… liked him?

 

Louis remembered when Harry moved to the little town in fifth grade. He remembered all the girls being obsessed with his curly hair and dimples.

 

Harry was a total dork, though. He got teased for being so clumsy, especially in P.E.. He was that kid who would play wall-ball by himself, lay out in the grass during recess and stare at the sky. The kid who talked to himself, hung out with himself, but was still so happy.

 

Louis remembered he had a science project with him in seventh grade. By then he had made a whopping one friend, an Irish lad named Niall who was a complete riot of loudness and laughter.

 

Louis remembered that when they got paired up he was worried, maybe even a little freaked out, because Harry was just a bit _too_  weird. Even more so though, Louis remembers feeling intimidated.

  


Intimidated because by the end of the project he had discovered Harry was actually extremely intelligent. Intelligent and completely himself and _happy,_  but never loud about it. No, he was someone who could own the world and never boast. So incredibly humble.

 

He was like a flower, something bashful but vibrant. Something beautiful, something that demands to be looked at, but does so quietly. It blooms with all it's colors and petals and beauty, but it doesn't yell at you about how lovely it is, no, it instead let's you notice it yourself.

 

After that Louis would smile at Harry in the hallways, maybe say ‘hi.’ But that was the extent of it. He admired Harry a bit, maybe even felt _inspired_  by him, but he never really put much thought to him - consciously, anyway.

 

But in that moment he had never felt such an overwhelming urge to know someone, touch someone.

 

Sure, he remembered enjoying Harry's physical aesthetic, as he did all the teenage boys who grew incredibly attractive over the years, but that was it. There was never any secret _crush_  or anything, not that Louis knew of.

 

So suddenly, age seventeen and at a Halloween party where Harry is the only thing he manages to see in a crowded room of people, it's _weird_.

 

Weird because of the strong emotion he felt toward him - like he was all Louis ever wanted. Ever _needed_.

 

That night, when he and Harry bumped hands both reaching out for the last carbo-grape juice, Louis had laughed, remembered thinking, _who the fuck gets grape juice at a party with alcohol?_

 

He was designated driver that night, voted so by Liam and Zayn, but still. Who _else_.

 

Harry Styles. That's who.

 

Pretty, overwhelming Harry, who Louis had just realized he may or may not have some underlying feelings for.

 

“You can have it,” Louis had said so sweet, maybe even a little _shy._

 

Harry's eyes twinkled. Adoration, hope, happiness. “We can share it.” He had said, like a child.

 

Louis smiled, stomach filled with butterflies that seemed to get stuck in his throat on the way out. But looking into those green eyes made him forget how to properly speak, how to properly function. All he could think about was how _of course_  Harry would say something like that, offer to share a juice, like _God_. He gives, gives, gives but never takes.

 

Harry seemed to understand, seemed to know what Louis was thinking or feeling - _something_. He was ridiculously intuitive, ridiculously perceiving. Louis almost felt like maybe Harry could see straight into his soul.

 

And if that was the case, then Louis was happy. Because in that moment Harry saw everything Louis was and still decided to take hold of his leather jacket and pull him out of the kitchen.

  


________________________________________

  
  


They ended up upstairs, leaning against the hallway wall talking -- very flirty. They had started out talking on one of the couches, but it was loud and dark, and people kept coming up to him and trying to engage in conversation when all he wanted was to talk to Harry.

 

Harry who politely watched any forced or turned down interaction, never intervening or getting upset. So patient.

 

But eventually Louis had looked at Harry and sighed - frustrated - and Harry just stood up and motioned for him to follow.

 

Louis remembers just how much quieter it was upstairs, only a few people stumbling around and laughing, in and out of rooms. The likes.

 

He remembers Harry's low hum voice, the way it poured out of him like home-made molasses, thick and syrupy. Louis was drunk on it.

 

“Why Minnie and not Mickey?” Louis had eventually asked during a small lull in their going-on-two-hours long conversation. He had reached out and tugged on one of Harry's long curls as he said it, body hot and alive as he allowed himself to twirl it around his finger.

 

Harry smiled. “If I was Mickey then I'd be looking for a Minnie.”

 

It took Louis a moment to catch onto what Harry was implying.

 

“Oh- _oh_ , you're,” he swallowed, remembers letting go of Harry's curl and watching it bounce back into place, “okay.”

 

Harry smiled, raised a curious eyebrow. Louis thinks he may have even leaned in closer. “Does that bother you, Louis?”

 

Louis’ body was hot all over when he firmly shook his head, not making eye contact. Harry was so pretty that night, too pretty. Up close he had discovered that Harry had white glittery eyeshadow on and a little bit of mascara. It fucking killed him. There was no way he could look at him and easily reply _no_ , because Harry was so pretty and Louis didn't want to do something stupid to mess the night up - like kiss him.

 

Of course it didn't bother him that Harry was gay, though. Louis wanted to call the boy silly in that moment. What _had_  bothered him - and what still _does_  - was how easily Harry had said it. Like they didn't live in a small conservative town of bigoted and narrow minded people who donate all their extra money to their churches.

 

Harry’s hand touched his own lightly, fingers dragging up Louis’ arm and then down again, slowly, softly. Louis felt his body fall pliant, his heart stutter.

 

Harry latched onto his fingers finally, squeezed them, murmured, “Good, I'm glad.”

 

When Louis worked the courage up to look back into Harry's eyes, his breath was taken away.

 

Everything went silent around him as he looked into Harry's eyes. Wide and trusting and open, brave and courageous and everything Louis wanted himself to be.

 

Harry leaned in closer, Louis was sure of it that time; his breath smelled like grapes and was hot over Louis’ face. He whispered, rubbing slow circles into Louis’ hand. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

 

Louis’ heart stopped. It stopped and down came every single one of the walls he built to keep his secret safe. To hide away his thoughts and feelings and urges for boys. A crumbled mess of vulnerability was all that was left and out flooded every quick glance, unconscious daydream, midnight wank.

 

He remembers shuddering, nodding, his eyes wide.

 

When Harry leaned in closer, lifting his hand to Louis’ cheek and releasing a breath over his face, reality hit Louis.

 

He jerked away quickly, looking around to see if anyone may have noticed. God, he was so scared and overwhelmed in that moment. He remembers his heart beating so rapidly against his ribs it made a knock, knock, knock noise that echoed through his body.

 

He remembers Harry's face, his look of confusion, of hurt.

 

Louis swallowed the plum sized ball of nerves gathering in his throat, bottom lip trembling. He murmured:

 

“Not here.”

 

So Harry crowded him in the hallway closet. Louis distinctively remembers pulling the string above their heads to let a dull light shine in the small space, remembers Harry giggling as he took one of the scarves that was hanging inside the closet and tied it around the doorknob, then looped it through a shelf wire. He remembers snorting as Harry tied a knot. It was such a shitty makeshift lock to keep this secret theirs.

 

Louis wished more than anything that it didn't have to be a secret.

  


________________________________________

  
  


Louis’ first kiss with a boy goes like this:

 

_Nervous, breathless giggles fill the air around them. Harry's mouse ears are slipping off his head, pink bow crooked in his curls. Louis doesn't know how he does it, but his shaking arm wraps around Harry's waist and pulls him closer._

 

_Harry, though, such a clumsy boy, trips in the foot of space and tumbles into Louis. His hands splay over Louis’ muscular little chest, a small ‘oops’ falling from his lips._

 

_‘‘Hi,’’ Louis breathes, eyes glancing over Harry's pretty, bashful face._

 

_Harry whimpers, high pitched and quiet. His teeth digging into his bottom lip as his sight glues to Louis’ smirking mouth. His slight dominance over the situation evaporated the moment Louis’ hand was on his hip._

 

_“Kiss me?” Harry murmurs. Eager and lovely._

 

_“Thought you were going to kiss me, love.”_

 

_Louis moves the hand not around Harry's waist to his cheek, where he traces his cheekbone with a trembling thumb, tucking one of the boys long curls behind his ear._

 

_Harry shudders a breathless laugh. “Close your eyes,” he says._

 

_Louis follows instruction, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on the boy, scared he'll run away and never come back._

 

_When something soft and plush touches Louis’ lips, he flinches, so nervous. But Harry is insistent, doesn't move away, but instead closer._

 

_Louis’ lips part shakily against Harry’s, a feeling so unreal and overwhelming rushing through him, making his heart shiver. His only response can be to hold Harry closer, shudder his emotions across his mouth in a light breath._

 

_Harry's hot palm rests itself on Louis’ neck, his other staying splayed over Louis’ chest. Louis wonders if he can feel his heart trying to reach through his chest to his hand._

 

_They pull away, just slightly, eyes still closed. Both lick their lips, savouring the moment, each other, the taste._

 

_Louis feels a surge of want. Hot, desperate want and need._

 

_He tugs Harry firmly to himself. Harry gasps, black eyelashes shuddering, and he ducks back down._

 

 _It’s intense. It’s beautiful. It’s a marching band of quiet breaths and wet smacks. A shock wave of pleasure. It’s everything they both want so badly._ Desperate.

 

_Living in a small, conservative town is no doubtfully difficult, no doubtfully painful, and they’re in this fucking closet expressing passion in movements of wet and slow and fierce._

 

_Louis’ head does nothing but spin with the constant thought that he's finally kissing a boy. Kissing Harry. And fuck, it's like every good feeling he's ever experienced packed into one._

 

_Overwhelming bliss._

 

_His hands are still shaking as he cups Harry’s jaw and licks into Harry's mouth, whimpering, moaning. So soft. So eager._

 

_Harry's arms wrap around Louis, no space allowed between them. One is over his shoulder, the other around his waist, and they grind so slowly, so subtly, hips moving together as the kiss turns filthy._

 

_Filthy with their tongues sliding together, with their heads tilting in sync, breath hot and damp. Eyelashes fluttering in ecstasy._

 

_“Oh,” Harry gasps into his mouth, “Louis.”_

 

_Louis groans, his cock becoming so hard so quick. His name has never sounded more beautiful than when Harry just breathed it into his mouth._

 

_He rolls his hips against Harry's, his shaking hand lowering to cup Harry's perfect little ass. He squeezes, bathes in the feeling of Harry's hips involuntarily canting against his own, and he groans._

 

_Louis’ nervous shaking turns into lustful, needy trembling. Never having experienced the feeling he is drenched in now with anyone else._

 

 _And God, has he fucked girls. Fucked them so thoroughly in an effort to reach an orgasm as good as when he wanks to gay porn, in an effort to feel a connection, some type of passion, a_ meaning.

 

_It's always been about closing his eyes and picturing hot boys and men. The only way he's ever managed to get off with a girl._

 

 _But this, this middle school dry humping with pretty Harry Styles, it's fucking_ ethereal.

 

_He sucks on Harry's tongue, feeling filthy and hot all over. He squeezes at Harry's ass, so rough, and Harry resorts to pulling Louis’ slicked back hair and whimpering against his swollen lips._

 

_Louis pulls away, kisses messily down Harry's throat to the base of it, where he bites._

 

_Harry chokes on his gasp, breath stuttering. Louis’ lips are rough and his tongue is soothing as he properly sucks the bite into a lovemark, deep and dark and claiming._

 

_Louis kisses a trail back to Harry's mouth where his own mouth meets his again in a messy, frantic kiss. Louis holds Harry's head in place with a hand at the back of his neck as he really claims his mouth, explores it, sucks in the dirty whimpers and pants._

 

_It takes everything he has and then some to pull away._

 

_“God, Harry,” he moans, voice full of lust and want, “can I touch you? Please?”_

 

_Harry whimpers and nods frantically, takes Louis’ hand in his own and cups his crotch. He humps against his hand in filthy movements, biting his lip as he gazes into Louis eyes._

 

_It's proof enough that Harry is more comfortable with the idea that all of this is happening with a boy, comfortable enough to give away all his dominance and be needy and messy and wholly accepting of whatever Louis wants to do to or with him._

 

_Louis’ fingers start to tremble again as he pops the button on Harry jeans. Harry, such a needy precious boy, takes the initiative to roll his jeans and pants down his thighs and let his cock bounce free._

 

_Louis is in awe, is shaking with pure need and want. His first cock, is all he can think._

 

_It's big and curves toward his tummy, a pretty pink tip peeking out of the extra skin at the top. Louis’ mouth waters._

 

_“God, Harry,” Louis murmurs, the only contact between them now being Louis’ hand on Harry's hip as he stares at the boys cock, “you're gorgeous.”_

 

_Harry's cock actually twitches at the statement, a blot of precum blurting out. Louis’ mesmerised, thinks there's no way this site right here in front of him is anything less than heavenly._

 

_With an anxious tremor in his hand, Louis reaches out and wraps his fingers around Harry’s cock._

 

_There's no burn telling him that what he's doing is wrong, is a sin. Only Harry's low, throaty whine that sounds like a prayer and the heat of his cock pulsing in his hand._

 

_Louis lets himself go into the moment, grips Harry’s cock and lets his fingertips memorise the feeling, the way it throbs beneath his touch. His thumb slowly pets over the pink tip, smearing precum, catching on the extra skin._

 

_Harry whimpers and falls forward, presses his forehead to Louis’, and they both stare between each other's bodies._

 

Beautiful.

 

_Louis tugs down slowly, watching as the extra skin pulls down and reveals his tip completely in all its precum, shining glory._

 

_He groans and drags his fist up again, letting his movements be slow but rhythmic. He finds that the foreskin acts almost like lube, with no harsh drag as it moves along the hardness with his fist. God, Louis loves it._

 

_Harry pants slowly, presses his own hand to Louis’ definite bulge. It makes Louis flinch, scaring him out of his mesmerisation of Harry's cock._

 

_“Let's - at the same time - together,” Harry moans, whines, deep and throaty and perfect._

 

_Louis nods and lets Harry undo his jeans and slip them down, along with his pants. His own cock bounces free and he looks to Harry's face to see his reaction, wanting so badly to be enough in this moment._

 

_Harry bites his lip to hold in his whimper, before slowly brushing the back of his hand over Louis’ thick cock, watching it throb, desperate to be properly touched._

 

_Louis thinks if he wasn't pressed to a wall right now he would definitely buckle under the intense pleasure of just the slight friction._

 

_He keeps his rhythm on Harry's cock constant, firm, but let's himself watch as the first hand that isn't his own and isn't a girls wrap around him._

 

God.

 

 _Louis’ almost scared he'll blow as soon as Harry tugs his dick. Harry's hand is big, so obviously a_ boy's _hand. Long and thick fingers, soft but not in a girls touch kind of soft._

 

_Harry holds his cock like it's sacred though, so fucking gentle with it that it's killing Louis, his breathing uneven._

 

_“God,” Harry's murmurs, more to himself than anything. Louis looks up to see what his face is, his expression, and sees that he's biting his lip and staring at his cock, eyeshadow sparkling. “I want you to fuck me with this cock so hard someday.”_

 

_Louis full out groans, eyebrows furrowing and mouth falling open. He bucks into Harry's hand involuntarily, hips shuddering._

 

_Harry glances up to Louis’ face and sees that Louis is already watching him. Harry locks his gaze with Louis’ before swiping his thumb through the bubbling precum and bringing it up to suck off his thumb._

 

 _“Jesus Christ,” Louis hisses, grip tightening around Harry's dick. He tugs Harry closer to himself again with the hand on his hip, letting their cocks press and rub together between them as he leans in to bite at Harry's lip, “you're fucking_ sinful, _” he pants._

 

_Harry moans into Louis’ mouth, rutting his hips so their cocks rub together. He kisses desperately and pushes one of his hands between his and Louis’ bodies to wrap around their cocks, letting them slide together in his fist._

 

_Harry's cock is heavy and throbbing against his own, both of them slick with each other's precum as they rub themselves together frantically in Harry's tight, hot fist._

 

_Louis slides the hand he had on Harry's hip back to his ass, feeling it bare beneath his palms. He squeezes, lets the flesh overflow in his palm. His skin is unrealistically soft on his bum, feels so fleshy and bouncy, and he just wants to squeeze and touch forever._

 

_He leans in and kisses Harry filthy, more tongue and mingling breaths than it is lips and finesse. He pants against Harry's open mouth and places his other hand on Harry's bum, squeezing both of his cheeks, pulling him apart a little and just playing with the fleshy dough._

 

_He doesn't even think about it as he pulls one of his hands away and smacks his cheek, feeling the skin jiggle with his other palm, he's too busy focusing on the feeling of Harry's skin, the feeling of his hand and cock touching his own._

 

_He doesn't realize he's done it until after he's done it and Harry's gasping against his mouth, rutting his hips roughly and driving his cock faster into his own fist, still wrapped around Louis’ swollen dick._

 

_Louis groans, tilts his head and looks down between them again, and he's amazed at how wet Harry is, leaking precum everywhere, soaking the two of them in his translucent stickiness._

 

_“Fuck,” he murmurs, squeezing Harry's asscheeks harder and roughly pulling him closer to himself, if even possible, watching as more precum bubbles from Harry's bulging tip, creating such a fucking hot mess between them._

 

_Harry whines, arches his back so his ass presses firmly into Louis’ palms, and he starts pumping his fist quickly around them._

 

_“God,” Louis groans, letting go of one of Harry's asscheeks to smear his fingers over Harry's pink tip, “look at you.”_

 

_He brings his slick fingers up to Harry's red, swollen lips, smearing the precum over Harry's lips so it looks like he has lip gloss to go with the rest of his makeup._

 

_He doesn't even think twice about shoving his fingers into Harry's pouty mouth, feeling the boy's moans vibrate around them._

 

_“So fucking wet,” Louis murmurs, looking back down between them, “wet just like a girl, huh?”_

 

_At that, Harry's rhythm falters, and Louis watches as Harry's cock throbs unbelievably, spurting come all over the two of them._

 

_Louis feels the lips wrapped around his fingers drop open pliantly, and he glances up to see Harry's face scrunched up as his orgasm washes over him; his eyebrows lined and eyes squinted, chest heaving as come pours out of him._

 

_It's Harry's face, the choked whimper that gets stuck in his throat, that sends Louis over the edge. He blows his load all over Harry's cock and fist, a blinding orgasm wrapping around him as his hips jerk sporadically against Harry's in the aftershock._

 

_They slump together, panting quietly as they enjoy the post pleasure bliss of the hardest orgasm they've both ever experienced, locked away in a closet that will become way too small for the secrets they hold._

 

So it was a little more than just Louis’ first kiss with a boy that night.

  


________________________________________

  
  


Louis can hear the rushing water now. It sounds cold. The bridge’s silhouette is looming and dark, and he feels a chill go down his spine.

 

He's been coming here for a couple months now. Usually after midnight, or if the day at school is rough enough he’ll come during his lunch hour. It's on a small paved road that cuts off the main road and leads out into the farmlands and mountains. Eventually the little road turns to dirt and splits off, a few houses back in the trees and small hills. The only reason such a big bridge is out here in the first place is because the county wanted to develop the land and expand, but the man who owned the land wouldn't settle for the prices offered and so the small bridge they had replaced was for no real good reason.

 

Unless sitting atop the large jumping girdles and contemplating suicide is considered a good reason.

 

Louis sighs, gripping the railing. It's all concrete and steel and iron. Terrifying.

 

The river is far below, stuck between a canyon of lush hill. He supposes he is lucky to live in the in between of mountains and valley.

 

His hands feel painfully cold so he removes them from the bar, stuffing them into the pocket of his hoodie.

 

Inside is a scarf. The scarf from last Halloween that was used to lock away something he wishes he could have the courage to experience everyday.

 

Because Harry gave him his number after they snuck out of the closet. For god's sake, Louis gave him his stupid leather jacket as they walked to the A&W down the road and got a milkshake and fries to share afterwards. Walked back to Louis’ truck that was parked on the side of the road and sat in the cab, talked and laughed and flirted, sat a little too close.

 

After an hour or so, maybe longer, Liam texted Louis and asked where he was, said Zayn's hookup puked on him and they were both smashed and ready to go.

 

Louis had sighed, showed Harry the message, and Harry just smiled understandingly.

 

He took Louis’ phone and put his number in it. Put a smiley face next to his contact name and added himself to Louis’ favorites.

 

“I won't tell anyone,” he had said after he had handed Louis his phone back, placing his hand on top of Louis’, “you should call me, though.”

 

His smile was so soft and genuine, so sweet. Louis couldn't do a fucking thing but smile back and feel his heart thud in his chest.

 

He had started taking the jacket off that Louis lended to him, but Louis shook his head, said, “Keep it, you'll need it.”

 

Harry had smiled so endearingly, like he couldn't believe Louis had said that to him. He blushed, looked down for a moment, and laughed under his breath. Then, he leaned in and kissed Louis’ cheek softly, letting his smiling lips linger there for a moment too long, before he had pulled away.

 

“Bye, Lou,” he murmured, getting out of the truck, “talk to you soon, hopefully.”

 

And he had shut Louis’ rusty truck door, and walked away.

 

It took Louis five whole minutes to compose himself before texting Liam and letting him know he was at his truck.

 

Louis never called though. All he could think about was how Harry didn't seem like the type of person who would want to wait to show his love, the type of person who would want to hide something that was so deeply a part of himself.

 

Louis never called because he felt he could never give Harry enough, never be Harry's enough, never love Harry the way Harry deserved to be loved.

 

He felt so strongly about that, that he didn't even want to try. Harry deserves the greatest no matter what, and Louis knew that simply wasn't himself.

 

And so the scarf is what he has. The scarf they also used to wipe up their come afterwards, giggling in a post orgasm state. The scarf Harry raised an eyebrow about before folding it and stuffing it into the back pocket of Louis’ jeans for him to keep, like maybe he knew right then and there that Louis wasn't going to try and make something of their night, and he wanted him to remember their time together.

 

It's a springtime sort of scarf, light fabric that doesn't stretch; cream colored with artistic flowers, come stains adding splotches of something new. Its definitely a reminder, all right.

 

A reminder that he holds tightly in his fist, feeling almost pathetic. Because right now, the moment feels almost romantic. A sorrowful kind of romantic.

 

Like this is some forbidden love, like he's Romeo and Harry's Juliette. _God_.

 

And it's not that. It's fucking _not_. There's nothing cute or awe inspiring about holding the thing that locked away an hour of secrets. Nothing nice about being too much of a coward to love someone. Nothing beautiful or romantic about gripping onto something like it's your only reason for life when you're going up a bridge.

 

He climbs up the makeshift ladder of huddled out steel and onto the jumping girdle. He sits down, legs hanging over the edge.

 

He's shaking.

 

He's shaking so bad, breathing rapid. There's a dull, numbing ache all over his body, consuming him, swallowing him whole.

 

There are no tears, no sobs, no anger. Just trembling, just pure numbness, pure shame, a sense of pain that floods so deeply into his soul.

 

His breathing is short, chest heaving. There's no calm here. His mind just keeps flashing through all the shame he feels, all the words people have thrown out about people like him, all the times he's laughed to hide how much it affects him, all the times he's tried to deny his own sexuality.

 

He's cried whilst trying to get himself hard thinking about girls, has cried watching pornos of busty women, cried watching lesbian porn. He sobbed himself to sleep one night watching a straight porno, realising that he was only watching the man and not the woman.

 

Like, _God_. He's _gay_. He's gay and he gets that. But it's getting harder to hide, harder to deny. He's too open of a person to hold something like his sexuality deep inside himself.

 

He's also desperate. He's tasted him - Harry - kissed his mouth, touched his cock, _fuck_ , and all he wants is more. He wants to embrace the boy, wants to hold him, kiss him, fuck him. He wants to love him and not feel ashamed of himself.

 

He wants to love him and not feel like it's wrong, like the feelings and urges he has are sins.

 

Because Louis needs approval, needs acceptance. It's a flaw that controls him, his thoughts.

 

He just doesn't think he can handle it anymore, is honestly surprised he has to this point. He genuinely thinks that he's close to shoving Harry up against the lockers of his high school to snog the life out of, thinks he's going to commit murder the next time someone mentions that they think Harry might be a _fag_  because he likes feminine things.

 

He's worried that a boy will come along that will be brave enough to love Harry in front of the whole world, and he will just have to sit back and watch.

 

He thinks that if that ever happened he would have a nervous breakdown.

 

A nervous breakdown like the one he's having now, atop the bridge.

 

And the fucking thing is, is that up here, looking down, he realizes once again that he's not actually brave enough to jump. He's really fucking not. And he's realized it every day he's came for the past few months.

 

He hopes if he just sits up on the girdle long enough though, with his pain and exhaustion, it will make him fall.

 

Because he doesn't want to live - not here, not now, not like this - but the last 18 years of his life have been spent learning how to keep himself alive, and dropping those instincts are putting him into panic attack territory, making him feel out of control, scared.

 

He sits up on top of the girdle for another hour, until his body feels frozen and the wind burns his cheeks.

 

He climbs down, and walks home.

 

________________________________________

  


Louis feels gutless, empty. He shows up to school, meets his football mates, smiles a little too late at things, doesn't laugh.

 

His mind feels slow, like it's dragging on the ground. All he can think about is all the times he's gone to the bridge, how he’s been going because he wants to kill himself, and now he's just back at school, like.

 

Like, life goes on.

 

No change in routine, no change in anything. Just a heavier heart.

 

He's not sure why he always thinks things will change afterwards, but he does. Thinks that perhaps one day he will go to the bridge, look down, and have a change of perspective, of heart. Like he will have a sudden realisation and life will turn around.

 

_Nothing._

 

If anything, all of the trips have just exhausted him. They have him feeling like he's not completely there, a bad kind of hazy.

 

It makes him feel guilty.

 

Always guilty.

 

The following week goes by that way, with those thoughts, and those feelings, days just dragging into one another, mind and body disconnected. His hyper-aware personality is dwindled into nothing but a pounding head and faint smiles.

 

In his maths course one of his football mates finally asks what's up, loud and with more arrogance and confusion than actual concern.

 

Louis lifts his head from his arms, looks across the room and meets Harry's gaze which is stuck on him, his eyebrows furrowed and an honest, deep look in his eyes.

 

Louis looks away quickly, blushing. If he wasn't feeling so out of it he would've panicked and thought someone noticed.

 

“Just feeling a bit sick, ‘s’all,” he mumbles.

 

“Well get better, mate,” his football mate claps him on the back, “got a big game next Thursday and Nick's party tha’ Friday!”

 

Louis huffs a light laugh, putting his head back in his arms and ignoring the homework assignment.

 

He lets his eyes drift back to Harry, only to see him stand up. He walks to the teacher's desk and hands his work in, getting an amazed look from his teacher that he's done already.

 

Louis blinks slowly, can hear Harry's deep rumble voice talk, but he can't make any words out. All he knows is the teacher is smiling and Harry is stacking books for him in a shelf.

 

All give but never take.

  


________________________________________

  


He goes back to the bridge that weekend around 6:00 at night, climbs up atop it and watches the river flow. There's still not any intentions of jumping, but if he fell he certainly wouldn't mind.

 

He sits on top of the girdle for at least two hours, letting tears slip silently down his cheeks. He thinks of his mom, his baby sisters and his brother. He thinks of Zayn. Of Harry. He thinks of everyone but himself.

 

He's not sure if it makes him hurt more or less.

 

Afterwards, he climbs down, walks to his truck that's parked on the side of the road a ways down, and he drives home.

  


________________________________________

  


The next week leading up to halloween is smothering.

 

Louis is back to his hyper aware personality, and his head isn't as muddled as the previous weeks, but he isn’t his usual self and it’s plainly obvious.

 

 _Monday_  starts off good. He finds Zayn and the rest of his football mates where they normally are grouped up before class starts, and he accepts the loud ‘Tommo’s!’ thrown his way as he joins them.

 

He's enjoying the crisp autumn air and the familiar smell of Zayn’s cig smoke, half-listening to his mates and half-being grateful that they got the morning off from early football practise.

 

He's tugged out of his little early morning splendour when one of the boys ask what he's dressing as for Halloween and Nick's party.

 

Louis feels his body rush with heat at the remembrance of last year's party. He shrugs as an answer and tries not to think too much about last year - he thinks it'll help.

 

“Maybe I'll dress as a girl,” Josh jokes, elbowing Aiden who cackles beside him.

 

“Pretty sure Styles gots that reserved all year long,” Liam says, making the rest of them laugh along. Louis clenches his fists and looks away, morning ruined.

 

He wishes he was _brave._

 

At least brave enough to sock Liam in the face and tell him to fuck off.

 

“Ooh,” Aiden snickers, “we should all just go as a bunch of fags.”

 

Louis feels himself crack inside, wonders if any of them hear it.

 

He spits on the ground - blood in his mouth from biting his cheek so hard - and he walks off, ignoring the yells behind him wondering where he's going.

 

He ends up punching his gym locker and busting his knuckles pretty bad.

 

Zayn sees because he followed him, and he forces Louis to spend first period in the nurse's office to calm him down. Louis can't help but notice the look Zayn gives him, like he knows something.

 

Louis bites the inside of his cheek again and keeps himself bottled up inside.

 

 _Tuesday_  there's early football practice. Louis feels sluggish and tired, as do most of the boys this early, but they manage.

 

Louis’ sort of become accustomed to tuning out certain vocabulary whilst on the field, words like ‘fag,’ and ‘fairy,’ and the occasional sexist comment of ‘stop doing whatever like a girl.’

 

Today he seems to be focusing in on it, keeps hearing teammates yelling to ‘stop being a bunch of fags and work harder,’ even the coach yelling at them to step their practise up with homophobic slurs.

 

Louis’ seething. He fucking _is_.

 

It's like all the time spent learning to tune out those words on the field have disappeared and now his head is flooded with it. He's so angry he feels like he can't even breathe anymore.

 

He doesn't even realize his aggression until he goes to make a pass and ends up drilling the ball straight into the ground, turning around and ripping his helmet off.

 

“What the hell was that, Tomlinson?” his coach yells.

 

Louis’ blood is boiling and he throws his helmet to the ground, hands going up to tug at his hair.

 

He's losing it.

 

“Looks like Tommo’s got something up his ass,” he hears one of the boys mutter, making a couple of them snicker.

 

“You shut the fuck up,” he grits through his teeth, fists curling as he glares hatred onto the boy.

 

Everyone quiets down, watching Louis in confusion.

 

Finally the coach tells them to go to the locker room and get showered. He asks to talk to Louis but Louis declines, says he needs to clear his head.

 

Instead of showering in the locker room with the other boys, he drives home, stands in burning water until his rage has melted out and turned into unadulterated shame, and comes back to make first period, only to hear more slur words that itch beneath his skin.

  


_Wednesday_  is Louis’ study hall day, and he would skip but he has to make practice (he would skip that too, but tomorrow’s a big game and he’s the best quarterback on the team.)

 

For the most part, the day is good. It’s nice, it’s quiet; sitting in the library, just finishing a book report and working on advanced chemistry homework. Zayn stops by for a period and hangs with him, doodles in the margins of his notes and offers quiet talk. He asks about what was up the other day and Louis shrugs him off despite the look he receives.

 

The thing is, Zayn is Louis’ best friend, has been since he was born. They live right beside one another, so it’s basically universal law of some sort that they’re good friends. More often than not, Louis feels Zayn is the only sane person in his life. It’s like he’s the only person who sees through the facade of the contradictory conservative life that's settled around them. Zayn’s smart, Zayn’s real, Zayn’s the only one who doesn’t indulge in the gross and ignorant comments and behaviours.

 

Zayn and Louis share everything. Zayn is why Louis feels shame, and also guilt, because he hasn't shared completely everything. It's the fear of losing him that makes it impossible to do so.

 

After Zayn leaves, Louis looks at the doodles Zayn left for him and sighs. He puts his head down and spends the next period until lunch napping.

 

Louis manages to slip in and out of the cafeteria with an apple and water bottle for lunch, deciding it'll be best for his mentality to stay in the library and not subject himself to the ignorance of his teammates’ words.

 

Louis sits and watches the other kids who hang out in the library at lunch whilst he eats, acutely aware that Harry is one of those people. He tries his best not to glance at him too often, but it's hard when he can feel the stares of the boy and his Irish mate.

 

He goes to the bathroom after he's finished his apple, and when he comes back there's a homemade spinach and tomato sandwich next to his backpack, along with a small ziploc bag of sliced sweet potatoes and brown-sugar. A post-it note with swirly handwriting and a small smiley face reads as is:

 

_a handsome football player like you needs plenty to eat, hope you enjoy :-)_

 

One thing that's good about a small town is homemade food isn't uncommon and there's little to no worry about it being dangerous to eat. So Louis does eat it, with a small smile and blush on his face, sparing glances toward Harry who has an equally red face and a Niall who looks too smug.

 

So Wednesday isn't actually all that bad.

  


_Thursday_  is a flash of team spirit. Living in a small town means football is important, that home games are genuine events that everyone waits for and shows up to, that schools shut down to embrace the day and show pride.

 

After three years of it Louis’ head pounds at the school fight song, and the pride chants, and being picked up in a group of burly boys.

 

It's days like today where some of the worst things are said and done.

 

Days where everyone's hyped up on adrenaline and hope and ego. Days where the teachers make little effort to discipline because the players just _can't_  get in trouble before a game, days where it's easy to pick out who's ill-spirited.

 

Harry isn't one of those people, quite honestly, he's the opposite.

 

He's in a cheerleader skirt (‘with leggings, of course,’ Louis imagines him saying), a big, comfy looking sweater, and he's got himself Pom-poms.

 

The cheerleaders absolutely adore Harry, and Louis often wonders if they know his sexuality, seeing as Niall is dating one of them and Harry is coddled by all of them.

 

Louis knows that where girls are often more gentle-hearted, they can just as well be vicious. Louis’ heard just as many of the females at their piss-ant school say terrible things as the male population, yet - most of the cheerleaders seem so nice, and there's no doubt that they all love Harry.

 

He thinks it's impossible not to love him, though. With his gentle heart and big grin, roaring audacity to be himself.

 

“Styles, ya little fag. Dressed like a girl hoping a guy ‘round here might fuck ya’?”

 

“Oh piss off, Mark. For all you know he's a right ladies man.” Jesy says, hooping her arm through Harry's. A few of the other cheerleaders sigh and roll their eyes, very much used to this kind of behaviour addressed at Harry even though he's never, that Louis knows of, shown that he's not 100% straight.

 

Mark rolls his eyes. “Right. He even wears your clothes,” he says, flicking Harry's skirt.

 

“Clothes have no gender,” Harry says softly, smoothing his skirt out. Niall claps him on the back as a sign of pride.

 

“What?”

 

“Clothes have no gender,” he says louder, though gentle in tone.

 

Josh scoffs, “Yeah okay, fag, why do you think none of us wear ‘em frilly clothes, then?”

 

Harry clears his throat softly, seemingly unaffected as he blinks between the pair of boys, “Skirts are very commonly worn by men outside of western cultures.”

 

Louis’ heart grows five sizes. Watching Harry, his gentle bravery. His stance is still so open, _everything_  about him is still so open, like if the two apologized right then and there for being absolute assholes he’d accept it with a smile and hug, like he holds no bitterness or contempt in his heart.

 

The two boys stand, eyeing Harry but not saying anything. Finally, though not an apology, they say, “Whatever, fag.”

 

Louis wonders if it's hurting him or Harry more at this point.

  


_Friday_  is the topper of the week. Terrible.

 

Especially because they won the game which means hearing ‘we showed them fags’ dropped every other second. It means arrogance and ego and Louis being congratulated with words he'd rather not hear.

 

He played good last night, put all of his aggression into playing his best, but it's left him feeling drained.

 

Harry is at school in a smile and a blush, quite honestly the prettiest thing on earth, and Louis doesn't even try to hide his want. He stares unabashedly and bites his lip, blocks out his mates talking as they stand in the hallway before class.

 

He's making Harry blush even more, and whilst he's a bit smug about that, it also kills him. All he can think about is that if he were more brave that boy could be his to love.

 

(Louis often imagines all the different ways he could turn Harry red. Playing with his fingers, whispering in his ear. Kissing his cheek, his neck, his thighs.)

 

He sighs, blinking slowly and biting his lip. If anyone were to pay attention, it would be more than obvious that he was checking Harry out, or more so openly daydreaming of him.

 

It isn't until Harry hesitantly smiles, giving a small wave, that Louis is broken from the trance. He flusters even more, scowling at the ground as he tries to straighten himself out (ha.)

 

He does smile back after a moment though, waving just as shyly. The moment feels so private, like they're the only two people in the hallway, school, world. Like everything else is irrelevant to the ocean of feelings shared between them.

 

They aren't alone though, and there's always a reminder.

 

“Who are you waving a- oh,” Aiden's eyebrows line, “why you smiling at that fairy? He wore a fuckin’ skirt yesterday, did ya see?”

 

The first positive interaction with Harry in a year and it's ruined.

 

Louis looks back to Harry to see him grinning, cheeks such a tender pink, eyes casted down where he's fumbling with his hands. Niall, who's with his girlfriend, notices and looks to Louis, grinning and elbowing Harry, only making Harry turn a deeper red.

 

Louis doesn't want that smile to disappear.

 

“Okay,” he replies to Aiden, only making him and Liam’s eyebrows line.

 

“Pretty sure he's a fag, mate.”

 

Louis shakes his head, disagreeing. “Nah,” he says, “Styles is cool.”

 

Josh looks at him like he's crazy. “You sure?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, “he's a nice lad.”

 

Josh and Aiden both glance to Harry, before looking back to Louis. “Alright.”

 

Louis feels good, knowing he's stopped them from picking at Harry, but he also feels even more drained, and very, very sad. He wishes he could just yell at them to shut the fuck up, to get their heads out of their asss. He wishes he could go snog the life out of Harry whilst flipping them the bird.

 

The rest of the day passes in Louis turning his head whenever one of his teammates bully some other kid, head pounding along with rage.

  


________________________________________

  


“Excuse me up there?”

 

Louis flinches, body going rigid.

 

He’s atop the bridge again, the week being entirely too much, even with the good moments slipped in. He just needs this, somehow sitting atop the bridge and staring down at the dark river helps him feel what he needs to, like he's throwing his bottled emotions down and watching them disappear. It's just… Comforting.

 

It’s been about an hour of sitting in mostly silence. There’s the usual snarling of deer and chirps of birds, and in the distance there’s the sound of traffic from the busy halloween night. No voices, though. Not at all.

 

“Hello?” He hears again, and somewhere in the back of his head he thinks it’s not real.

 

“Look,” the voice sighs, “I know you're up there, Louis. I can see the white bottoms of your shoes. There is a smiley face on the left one - although I can't actually see it right now because you're too high up - but, you're up there.”

 

Louis swallows. Blinks. The past hour has been a constant replay of the way Harry smiled at him in the hall earlier that day, a constant replay of exactly one year ago when he was pressed to his chest and gasping into his pretty mouth.

 

“Are you coming down or am I going to have to come up there? I'll have you know I'm very clumsy and also a bit scared of heights, so I don't want to have to do that, but I will.”

 

There's a pause, the only sound is the chilly wind rustling the trees and the rushing river below. Louis doesn't think he is actually that stupid - to climb up here for a boy who never called him. There's no way he is, it's dangerous and stupid and he has to feel some bit of bitterness toward what he did to him. At least that is what he hopes anyway. He thinks it will ease his conscience if he does.

 

“Alrightie then,” the boy says, sighing loud and clear and forced.

 

Louis’ eyes close and he says, “You don't need to come up here, I'm fine.”

 

“Are you coming down here, then?”

 

Louis swallows, tightly squeezing his eyes close. “Not now.”

 

“Well, then I'm coming up there.”

 

The distinct squeaking noise of the boy climbing up the makeshift ladder steps Louis himself climbed an hour before rings through the darkness.

 

Louis’ heart trembles.

 

“Oh shit. This is terrifying,” the boy says, and Louis wants to yell at him to stop, to get the fuck down. He also wants to wrap him up and tell him not to be so stupid, tell him he loves him. “If I die it's on you. Holy fuck- don't look down, don't look down.”

 

The noise stops. A new noise is heard, a whimpering noise.

 

“I looked down and fuck- you're responsible for ruining my jeans, too.”

 

Louis laughs. Genuinely laughs. It's a little choked and a little desperate, but it's real and it's ridiculous.

 

“That sounded like a happy noise.”

 

Louis can hear the smile in his voice, and he keeps his eyes closed, hoping maybe it will help keep him together for the inevitable moment to come.

 

“Lou,” the boy says, breathlessly, “hi.”

 

Louis inhales shakily through his nose, chest trembling on the exhale. He feels the boy shuffle up beside him and presumably sit down. Then, an arm is hooking under his, a hand gripping his forearm.

 

“I - I'm scared shitless, so - so I'm just going to,” Louis feels the boy squeeze his arm and chuckle anxiously, “just going to hold on to ya.’”

 

Louis nods after a moment, focusing on controlling his breathing.

 

“So,” Louis hears after a few minutes of anxious silence, “it's nice to be this close to you again. Don't really fancy the cold or dark or, ya’ know, the bridge part, but I'll take what I can get.”

 

There's a strained humor in the boy's thick voice, and Louis finally opens his eyes and meets the boy’s - _Harry’s_  - eyes. He has his hair in a bun and, well, his face is painted white.

 

“What are you even supposed to be?” He blurts out.

 

Harry looks bashful for a moment, shifting slightly on his bum to get more comfortable. “I'm a ghost,” he says softly.

 

Louis raises an amused eyebrow and Harry smiles at him, looking the farthest thing from spooky.

 

Louis looks away to avoid kissing him.

 

It's quiet for 1, 2, 3...

 

“So,” Harry starts like before, “are you planning on jumping or just enjoying the view?”

 

Louis ignores it, asks, “Why are you walking out this way?”

 

Harry sighs deeply, taking an interest in the lines of Louis’ hoodie that he traces with fingertips that are trembling like his own. “My house is out here,” he says, almost sadly, “maybe if you would've called me within the last year you would've known that.”

 

Louis flinches but refuses to acknowledge it. “You walk this road every day?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“It's dark.”

 

“I'm not usually out this late.”

 

“Why _are_ you out this late?”

 

“I was waiting for Nick's party to start,” he answers.

 

“And why aren't you still there?”

 

Harry laughs softly, shaking his head. He looks away. “You weren't there,” he says, like it's an obvious little secret.

 

Louis’ heart aches. He doesn't know how to reply. He breathes in, asks quietly despite every fibre of his being telling him not to - don't be a dick.

 

“Do you really think I would've talked to you if I was there?”

 

It's silent, and Louis regrets saying the words as soon as they're out. After a moment, he hears Harry swallow.

 

“No,” he answers, voice sad and genuine, “but I know you would've wanted to.”

 

Louis shuts his eyes, eyebrows lining. He hates how much Harry sees, hates that he really is this transparent to the boy. “Have you - did you see me, before tonight?”

 

“Up here?” Harry asks. Louis nods. “Yeah,” he sighs, “the first time I was late doin’ m’ homework, so I was late bringing sweet potatoes out to these little fawns that lost their mom - she got hit on the road, I had a funeral for her, ‘nd buried her, ‘nd made a little cross ‘n everything - and anyway,” Louis watches as he slowly drawls his words out, rambling, “I saw you climbing up and - I don’t know, I just sort of watched you until you got down, yaknow, to make sure you _were_  getting down.”

 

Louis swallows, nods.

 

“Then the second time I was walking home from the market and saw your truck parked on the road. So I took my little trail to the river and watched you again,” Harry chuckles nervously, “sort of creepy sayin’ it out loud.”

 

“No other times?” he asks quietly.

 

Harry furrows his eyebrows, “There were other times?”

 

Louis decides to ignore that, breathing in deeply. “What made you say something this time?”

 

Harry frowns. “You’ve been weird lately at like, school ‘nd stuff. I- I watch you there too,” he laughs nervously again, “after the first time I sort of thought, like, maybe you got sick from sitting up here for so long in the cold, but - but that’s not what it is.”

 

“What is it then?” Louis asks, a bit defensively but with no fight.

 

“You tell me,” Harry says, looking to him.

 

“I'm not really sure yet.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry nod thoughtfully. “Did you know I've jumped off of this bridge before? That's why I'm a ghost.”

 

Louis looks at him, snorts and raises an unamused eyebrow.

 

“As a ghost I must warn you not to do what I did,” he explains, the tiniest of smiles on his face.

 

Louis rolls his eyes, “You're not a ghost, Harry.”

 

“Oh but I am!” he says, excited and cute, “I'm the ghost that haunts this town!”

 

Louis starts to smile, so he looks away to hide it. “Don't ghosts need to like- finish unfinished business to cross over?”

 

“Yes!” Harry says, eyes widening like he literally didn't even think of that until Louis said it, and now he's going to use it to his advantage, “yes they do!”

 

Louis looks back to him and raises an eyebrow.

 

“And you're mine.”

 

Louis flushes unexpectedly, furrowing his eyebrows. “Um, what?”

 

“You're my unfinished business,” Harry states, like it's the easiest and most obvious thing in the world.

 

Louis looks down. He can feel himself start to shake again as the shame fills his body all over. He sniffles, swallows, hopes Harry can't feel his trembling, and says:

 

“I don't like you like that, Harry.”

 

“See,” Harry starts, Louis can hear the smile in his voice, “that's where I think you're lying.”

 

Louis’ jaw clenches. He swallows. If anyone here is a ghost it's himself, so transparent.

 

“I know you like me, Louis,” Harry says softly, “just like you know how you still have my number saved in your phone, exactly how I put it in.”

 

Louis feels tears well in is his eyes, because Harry is right. So fucking right. He likes him, he likes him so goddamn much. He still has his contact completely untouched, the number memorised from all the times he's debated calling it.

 

There's no fight Louis can put up anymore. He says, “I can't be with you.”

 

Louis’ head is bent down, eyes closed to stop the tears from flowing. A hand touches his face softly, Harry's thumb tracing the stubble along his jaw. “Yes you can,” he whispers, like Louis’ silly for thinking he can't be.

 

It hurts so bad, all of it. He leans into Harry's hand, whispers, “I can't love you like you deserve.”

 

Harry's hand moves to his chin and lifts his head up. Louis turns his head the rest of the way to meet Harry's gaze, and Harry asks, “And what kind of love is it I deserve?”

 

Louis’ reheassd so many words and thoughts in his head about this, trying to find a logic to put to why he's denying himself something he wants and can have.

 

“Loud, open love,” he swallows, closes his eyes because he doesn't want Harry to see the shame, “not scared to be shown to the world.”

 

Harry laughs softly, dropping his hand from Louis’ face back down to hold his arm, “Is that the love you think I want, then?”

 

And Louis’ mind goes blank. Completely and utterly blank. He opens his eyes, meets Harry's gaze again. He furrows his eyebrows and tries to find something in Harry's eyes that say, ‘ _Yes! yes! I want extravagance! I want fireworks and marching bands and a declaration of love so loud the entire world will hear it! The entire world will know I'm yours and you're mine!’_

 

He doesn't. He can't. There's nothing in the green of Harry's eyes.

 

He looks away. Eyebrows furrowed.

 

Harry moves his hand from being wrapped around Louis’ forearm and places it in Louis’, causing a shiver to run through Louis’ body.

 

“Outside the rain is tapping on the leaves,” Harry sings softly, voice deep and perfect, “to me it sounds like they're applauding us, the quiet love we've made.”

 

Louis feels a rush of emotion gather in his throat and he tries to swallow it down. His body screams at him to lay down, breathe deep. He looks at Harry instead.

 

“What?”

 

“It's a song,” he's looking outwards, “by Ray LaMontagne.”

 

Louis doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't. Instead, he sits, Harry's hand on top of his own trembling one. There's a pulse in Harry's palm that thrums through his skin and down his veins. It's new. It's warmth. It's emotions he's ignored, feelings pushed away. His resistance is breaking.

 

“What's the last song you listened to” Harry asks, looking at him curiously, “before, yaknow, you came here?”

 

“The Storm by The Airborne Toxic Event.”

 

Harry blinks, makes an adorable face of consideration, says, “That's a good song. I like them,” he pauses, laughs awkwardly, “after I uh- after I realized you weren't going to call I listened to one of their songs on repeat, for like, the longest time.”

 

Louis swallows. “What song was it?”

 

Harry glances to him and half smiles, no shame in his confessions. “Safe.”

 

Louis blinks. He's not sure which one that is, so many sounding alike. He puts the song on a mental note though.

 

After a few moments of silence Harry speaks again. He says:

 

“You know when you do something, and it feels really good? Like, you just think nothing could ever make this specific thing feel any better. Or I don't know, maybe you _taste_  something, and there's no way anyone could make that food better, yeah?”

 

Louis furrows his eyebrows but nods.

 

“Yeah, and so you're sure you've had the best of that food. Or you've felt the best of that thing, right? Which is good, like, you love it and that's that.”

 

Harry laughs breathlessly, squeezing Louis’ arm, “but then one day - one day you try that food by someone else, or you do that thing in a different way or with someone else, and you're just like ‘ _my god, it gets better! how long have I been missing out on this?_ ’”

 

Louis definitely knows that feeling.

 

“That's what you are to me.”

 

Louis - Louis doesn't -

 

“I've kissed a good handful of people- boys and girls- and _God_ , it was nothing like what happened with you. We've got like, chemistry ,” Harry grins, looking down to where he's playing with Louis’ fingers. Louis can tell his eyes are shining, “Something really special, I know it. Just - just touching your hand feels like too much and not enough. It's overwhelming, but it's perfect.”

 

“You were my first boy kiss.” Louis blurts, heart thudding, “actually my only.”

 

Harry's fingers tighten around Louis’ hand. Louis can feel it, how whelming it is, how intense and fierce. He exhales shakily.

 

“Would you like to know what kind of love I want?”

 

Louis’ answer claws up his throat desperately. “Yes,” he chokes.

 

“I want a love that's mine. One that's like, between the sheets, keeps me warm at night, yaknow? One that makes me breathless without all the explosions and declarations,” Louis watches Harry, the way he seems far off in his head, “I want a love that feels like home, like comfort. Like meeting their gaze is all it takes to feel safe.”

 

He takes a breath.

 

“I don't need or want the whole world to know that they're mine, and that I'm theirs. As long as I know that they're mine and no one else's, I would be happy. So, so happy.”

 

Louis’ eyes finally begin to tear up, the cold air making every drop that slips down his face sting. He can't hold it in any longer.

 

Harry watches him carefully, Louis can tell by the way his gaze burns into his skin. “Are you happy, Louis?” he asks, so softly.

 

Louis shakes his head, sobbing. Harry squeezes his hand.

 

“I'm scared. I'm so _scared_ , Harry. Everyone ‘round here is so fucking-” Louis throws the hand not weighted under Harry’s in the air, waving it out in front of himself, “and I'm so fucking _gay._  I am, God, and - and fuck, that's the first time I've said it aloud, I think.”

 

Louis laughs humourlessly, tears flowing down his cheeks.

 

“It's just so fucking _difficult_ , though. I'm so scared that even thinking about - about _boys_ \- people will -” Louis clenches his eyes closed, “I'm literally fucking paranoid others are going to be able to tell and- and,” he pauses, taking a deep breath, “and I'm not brave enough to be out. Not here, not ever here. And I'm ashamed of that, of myself. I'm too much of a coward to embrace myself. Im-”

 

Harry squeezes his hand as a physical reassurance.

 

“I'm too much of a coward to even show any sign that I love the person that I do.”

 

He whispers it so brokenly. So small, fragile. His heart feels ripped open but also extraordinarily whole, like this is what he _needed._  The vulnerability.

 

Louis’ just poured his heart out to the river. Let it jump from his chest and down.

 

It feels good. It feels _so_  fucking good. Like relief. Like he's not carrying the world on his shoulders anymore.

 

It hurts. It hurts but God the hurt is good and worth it. He _knows._

 

_Like a sudden realisation._

 

“Let's get down, yeah?” Harry murmurs, “I want to hug you and-” he pauses, looking to Louis with searchful eyes, “and I'm really scared up here.”

 

“Be careful, please,” Louis whispers as Harry uses his shoulder to help himself stand up. Harry freezes and looks down to him, gripping one of the steel cables. He says:

 

“ _You_  be careful, I'm the ghost here!”

 

Louis laughs so hard it's fucking stupid. _God_. This boy. This boy who is amazing and terrifying all at the same time.

 

Once Harry's on the ground Louis can feel the shift in the air, how less tense everything feels. Like the molecules of Harry's emotion are Louis’ vibes and he feels the frequencies of them. It's so intense, and there's never enough time to figure one wave of emotions because there's always another on the way.

 

When his own feet finally touch sturdy ground he's never felt more alive and exhausted.

 

He's still trembling. God, he fucking is. But Harry's arms wrap around him and engulf him, spread reassurance through his bones. He _melts_.

 

Harry holds him there on the old country back road until his body is no longer shaking, breath no longer uneven. Harry holds him until he's steady enough to hold himself, and even then he doesn't let go.

 

“Let's go to my house, okay?” he murmurs, his breath brushing over Louis’ neck and whelming him.

 

Louis nods, breathing Harry in.

  


________________________________________

  


The leaves crunch beneath their feet as they walk in darkness. Louis feels tiredness and exhaustion settle through his bones. Weak, brittle. His body laces with heaviness, making his feet drag against the pavement. His hand, though, is held by Harry's, and that alone is what gives him the strength to not curl up on the cement and sleep away the emotion of what he's been wanting to do to himself, with himself.

 

Harry’s likes his gentle reminder that it’s okay. The heat of the boy’s hand spreading up his arm and through his body; a soft squeeze to reassure. Louis feels understanding through the thrum of Harry’s heart from his palm - never once does it give the impression that Louis is wrong for his thoughts or feelings or actions.

 

_It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay._

  


________________________________________

  
  


Harry's home is a two-story farm house. When Harry opens the door and pulls him in, still holding his hand, Louis thinks he never wants to experience anything else. Never wants to escape this feeling of openness that wraps around him simply by entering a home with Harrys hand in his.

 

“Harry, you're home early-”

 

Louis freezes under the voice, hand unclenching around Harry's.

 

Slip, gone, anxiety.

 

Harry doesn't let go though, and Louis looks at their hands, then up to the woman who is standing up from the couch. She must be Harry's mom, she's so beautiful just like him.

 

“Oh, you must be Louis!”

 

Louis’ eyes widen, because of course people around here know who he is but this, no this is different.

 

“Mom!” Harry whines. Louis looks at him and beneath his white face paint an obvious blush is blooming. Louis’ heart races.

 

“I'm Anne, darling,” she says sweetly, holding her hand out, Louis hesitantly lets go of Harry's to shake it, “I've heard a lot about you, nice to finally meet you.”

 

Louis swallows, mind racing. “You're not- um-” He blinks and looks to Harry, “what?”

 

Anne's eyebrows furrow and she looks to Harry who has this look on his face, like a sentence in his eyes, a slight warning.

 

“Oh,” Anne says, sad warmth spreading in her eyes. She's smiles sympathetically and Louis startles when she wraps him up in a hug. “Don't worry about anything like that. It's okay.”

 

Louis wants to cry when he hears those words. The acceptance, the understanding. Something he's been wanting to hear his entire life.

 

Instead he lets out a sigh of relief so loud Harry laughs a little, though nervously.

 

“Mom,” Harry pouts a little, tugging on Louis’ hand. His mother snorts softly, pulls away. Everything about her feels like home and comfort, just like Harry.

 

“Right,” she says, rolls her eyes, “I'll probably head to bed after another cup of tea, want me to make some extra and leave it on the stove for you two?”

 

“Yes please,” Harry replies, dragging Louis to the staircase and up it.

  


________________________________________

  


“I'm going to shower real fast and get this face paint off, then we can go downstairs, okay?”

 

Louis nods, silent. Thinking. He looks around Harry's room and takes in the springtime warmth it offers. The walls are pastel purple, the hardwood flooring is dark. He has a floral comforter with matching pillowcases on his bed, and on a dark wood desk sits a stack of books, a journal, and askewed items like a bundle of daisies and a cup of writing utensils.

 

His walls are neat and tidy, making the room feel much bigger, all except for a tiny area to the side and in front of the desk where sticky notes, photos, and letters are pinned to the wall. It's so pretty and lived in, gives so much of Harry's personality away.

 

“Would you like some sweats and stuff?” Harry asks, startling Louis from his look around the room. He looks back to Harry to see him shedding his long, black coat.

 

“If you don't mind,” Louis says.

 

“Course not,” Harry murmurs, sounding like it's more him talking to himself contently than anything else.

 

He crouches down, opening a drawer in his dresser near the floor. His shirt rides up on his back and Louis chokes.

 

“Is - is that a _tattoo_?”

 

Harry squeaks, falling back on his bum and pulling his shirt down. His face burns red beneath his white face paint and he looks to Louis with wide eyes and a shy smile.

 

“You weren't suppose to see that,” he murmurs shyly. He bites his lip and grabs sweatpants for the both of them.

 

“What is it?” Louis asks, voice hoass from crying.

 

“Um,” Harry clears his throat and stands up, “it's a bow. I got it when I was 16 with my sister. You've never met her, she had a close friend back in the city we lived in before we moved here that she stayed with.”

 

Louis swallows and nods, watches as Harry walks closer and then turns, lifting his shirt up. Louis bites his lip at the sight of the dainty little bow tattooed right above the swell of Harrys bum. It's light pink and not very big, maybe two inches wide and one in height. Louis feels breathless.

 

“I don't really like it being seen. It's just sort of… silly? I don't know, at the time I liked it but, yaknow.”

 

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “I love it,” he says, “it's cute.”

 

Harry turns around and smiles. “Thank you.”

 

Louis nods in all seriousness, swallowing so many words that want to spill out.

 

Harry exhales a heavy breath and sets clothes on the bed for Louis, looking to him again with a tiny smile. “I won't be long, promise.”

 

“Okay,” Louis answers, watching him slip into the bathroom and close the door. He hates how far he feels from the boy, how far from himself.

 

He hears Harry stripping the rest of his clothes off through the door, hears the faucet to the sink turn on. The unmistakable sound of someone brushing their teeth.

 

Louis becomes overwhelmed with a loneliness suddenly. It just washes over him, drenches him. The smell of Harry surrounds him but he can't _see_  Harry and it feels too familiar. Familiar like _seeing_  him but not being able to talk to him, to touch him. Harry’s going to be naked on the other side of a wooden door and he's not going to be able to see him.

 

His skin itches, a new shame filling his pores.

 

A _guilt._

 

Because he could have called Harry. He fucking could have. And he also could have put more consideration into how Harry was feeling all these months. And he could of easily slipped on that bridge, playing on the line of death like that. And Harry knows.

 

God, Harry _knows_.

 

With the realization that Harry _knows_ , it has him feeling open, so _vulnerable_. He doesn't want to sit with his vulnerability, not alone, he's not emotionally strong enough to do that. Not yet.

 

He stands up, walks to the door just as the sink faucet is turned off, and he knocks quietly.

 

God, he wants to see Harry's bare skin. He wants to see what he's been craving for months, been tearing himself up over. If it's a sin then he wants to burn, and if it's just two fucking people together than he wants to feel the normalcy, the rightness, wants to feel that it's not wrong in the slightest because it's not.

 

“Lou?” Harry's calls.

 

“Yeah, um,” Louis closes his eyes and swallows, so embarrassed, “can-can I join you?”

 

It's silent for a moment. Louis’ holding his breath.

 

He hears Harry's feet against the floor padding closer, hears the door knob snick when his hand touches it. Harry's head pops out, his hair now down and falling carelessly around his shoulders in messy ringlets.

 

“I'm naked,” he says, like a child, like a pretty pout. Pink. _Caution._

 

“That's- that's okay,” Louis sighs, chest tightening.

 

Harry opens the door all the way, and Louis shuffles inside, hands toying with the sleeves of his hoodie. Harry walks back to the shower cubicle and pulls the curtain back, turning the shower on.

 

Louis freezes when he finally allows himself to look up at Harry’s naked form.

 

His entire body aches at the sight of Harry in front of him. From soft hips to Angel kisses decorating his milky skin in little, brown freckles - there's not one piece of him Louis doesn't find absolutely _breathtaking._ His baby, bubbly bum, the bow, the curly wisps of hair groomed neatly below his waistline - the little nicks and scars that trace his knobby knees, the way his thighs jiggle with the steps he takes. God, he's nothing below stunning.

 

He is just so beautiful, and Louis says just as much in a shy and breathless tone.

 

And though he's a bit embarrassed saying it, he's glad he did because the response from Harry makes it worth it. Harry's cheeks warming up beneath his white face paint, the pink blooming across his chest. Harry smiles, ducks his head bashfully and pushes his curls behind one of his ears.

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

 

Louis swallows, nods. He begins to take off his clothes.

 

When he's naked and nervous and feeling entirely exposed, both mentally and physically, he meets Harry's eyes and finds that Harry is staring at him. And it's _exhilarating,_  the feeling he gets, it feels so explicitly right, so _intense._  Because whilst Louis knows he's attractive, it doesn't compare to the breathlessness that comes with _feeling_  attractive all because of the way someone is staring at you.

 

It's _unreal._

 

Finally, Harry glances up and meets Louis’ eyes. He blushes, looking away.

 

When they finally get in the shower, Harry pulling the curtain back and letting Louis step in first, Louis wraps his arms around himself under the spray and murmurs, “I just don't want to be alone right now.”

 

Harry doesn't even hesitate, immediately wraps his arms around Louis and pulls him into his chest. Tight and warm, he holds him and Louis breaks down sobbing. His head hurts with thoughts that race too fast to grasp onto, to mean anything.

 

It's overwhelming, everything. Louis’ been so stuck in his head the past year that it's ruined him, made him sick and unhappy, _unfeeling._

 

And Harry doesn't say anything. He gives the moment to Louis, just holds him in the hot spray of the shower. It's not so much intimate as it is important that this happens. Louis needs something grounding, needs Harry. He's so lost in his head and the physical reassurance is something that keeps him from drowning.

  


________________________________________

  


He's not sure how long it is, but the waters losing its hot temperature and his sobs have silenced themselves.

 

Louis makes the move to step away.

 

He looks at Harry and bursts out into a watery laugh. His face makeup isn't off at all but it's smeared and he looks ridiculously stupid. He laughs so fucking hard that he thinks he may float away.

 

“What?” Harry insists, laughing lightly from the pure happiness that overwhelms him.

 

“Your face!” Louis laughs.

 

Harry gasps, slapping Louis’ shoulder lightly. “Do you know what happens when you make fun of a ghosts face?”

 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Harold,” he pauses, flicking water at him. He wipes his eyes and giggles again. “Don't you think you can talk to the ghost headmaster and ask for your life back? Your unfinished business just so happens to not be finished with you either, ya’know.”

 

Harry smiles, so sweet and fond, Louis’ words making him feel pink all over. “I think I can make it happen, I'll need 5 minutes to make it happen for sure, though.”

 

Louis waggles his eyebrows, “It only takes ya’ five minutes then, eh?”

 

Harry throws the rag he pulls from the little hanging hook at Louis. “I'm washing my face off you tit!”

 

Louis laughs, “Okay, whatever you say, ghost boy.”

 

He hops at of the shower cubicle only for Harry to poke his head through, “Extra towels are under the sink.”

 

Louis smiles thankfully and Harry disappears into the shower again. He grabs one of the light blue towels that are under the bathroom sink and wraps it around himself, drying off.

 

He shivers at the cold air and opens the door into Harry's bedroom, leaving it open. Quickly, he towels himself off and slips on what Harry got out for him. The sweats are big and baggy and the warmest thing he's ever felt. The sweater, he's seen Harry wear countless times, is nice and cream coloured.

 

Louis loves the way it feels on himself, the way the smell of Harry wraps around him. It's heavenly at best.

 

When he looks in the mirror on the back of Harry's door he flinches. His eyes are swollen from crying, face splotchy. He looks terrible, in all honesty, and maybe if he didn't feel so drained he would have it in himself to feel insecure.

 

________________________________________

  
  


After a minute or two the water turns off and he hears Harry step out of the shower. Another moment later and the bathroom door opens again to reveal Harry with a towel wrapped around his head, another around his waist.

 

Louis has sat himself on the end of Harry's bed and smiles softly at him, not exactly sure what to do or say.

 

“They took pity on me,” Harry murmurs jokingly, “decided I get another chance at this human thing.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes, small smile spreading across his face. He watches as Harry pick out from a hamper pink Pajama bottoms with little white clouds on them, and he snorts, “Do all the used to be ghosts wear those?”

 

Harry sends him a wink. “Only the especially cute ones.”

 

Louis watches Harry turn around and begin to dry his legs off. He's beautiful. Milky skin and round little bum. It's not sexual, it's real. It's makes Louis feel like this isn't absurd, loving a boy, it makes him feel like it's normal, like doing this, seeing another boy naked and enjoying it, it's not going to make him burn, not going to feel like guilt or shame, like a sin.

 

It's just two people.

 

Harry and him.

 

Harry shakes his curls out next drying them off nice and good before pulling his hair on top of his head and making a bun.

 

Louis is mesmerised by his movements. Watching him slip a long sleeve white shirt on. Watching him pick up his own towels and Louis’, watching him smile shyly when he glances over.

  


________________________________________

  


“Okay, let's go downstairs,” he murmurs softly, opening his bedroom door.

 

They pad downstairs and into the kitchen. The stove is turned on low with the kettle sitting atop of it. Harry gets two cups out, and then brings down some boxes of teas from the cabinet.

“What kind would you like?”

Louis looks over the boxes, sees lemon, green, and mint.

 

He wrinkles his nose. “You've got nothing normal?”

 

Harry's eyebrows furrow, “Don't you dare tell me you drink something like Yorkshire or Earl Grey.”

 

“Hey, what have you got against good tea?”

 

“Nothing, as you can see by my small selection.”

 

Louis snorts, “These teas look terrible.”

 

Harry's eyes narrow and he huffs, turning away. “I'm making you lemon.”

 

Louis grins so big it hurts.

 

________________________________________

  


“There's no TV in your living room,” Louis states, raising an eyebrow.

 

“This isn't a living room,” Harry corrects, “it's more like… a quiet room.”

 

“What?”

 

“You know, for like, reading or studying and stuff. There's no distractions.”

 

“That's cool.”

 

Harry blushes, “Thank you. It was my idea.”

 

Louis’ heart beats out of time so erratically he fears it's going to flop right out of his chest and onto the floor. It doesn’t, though. So he inhales deeply, watches as Harry sets their tea down on the small table and goes to the shelving unit in the room to pull out a pendleton blanket. Louis smiles softly when Harry turns to him and waggles his eyebrows, unraveling the neatly folded blanket.

 

He clears his throat, and then wraps the blanket around his shoulders, pulling the edges close to his chest and striking the most ridiculous pose, raising an eyebrow at Louis.

 

Louis snorts, laying his head back against the aft of the couch and letting it roll to the side as he smiles at the dorky boy in front of him.

 

Harry breaks his pose in a fit of giggles, quickly coming back over to the couch and folding his legs under his bum as he sits beside Louis. “Here,” he says softly, covering Louis’ lap in the duvet, “‘s’cold and this is warm, hm?

 

Louis hums, feeling his body overwhelm with a rush of gentleness and nerves, letting Harry drapes the duvet over him. He presses his hand to it softly, tracing part of a pattern as Harry reaches for their tea.

 

“Wool?” he asks, so stupidly. Harry doesn’t seem to think so, though. Smiles brightly and nods.

 

“Course, from Oregon,” he starts softly, “my mom buys her wine from there and they sent a free one, ‘so’nice,” he mumbles on, pushing Louis’ tea into his hands.

 

Louis nods softly, bringing his cup of tea to his nose and smelling it.

 

“Careful, still hot,” Harry murmurs quietly, watching Louis with such a calm intent. Louis doesn't get it, how comfortable he is here, right now. It's like he's not thinking about last year, what they did, and he's not thinking about what all this could be, in a month, in two, if they'll talk to each other. It's like he's just happy that he's in the moment of now, pleased to have him - Louis - here on his couch smelling his stupid peach tea.

 

Louis nods, carefully tilting the cup to try and get a taste. The tea hits his tongue and he flinches, feeling the tip of his tongue burn.

 

Harry snorts, which makes Louis pout. “Told ya’ it was hot.”

 

“Maybe it's the awful taste of your herbal shit,” Louis mumbles, smirking behind his cup.

 

Harry raises an eyebrow, “You're right, that must very well be it.”

 

Louis laughs quietly, just a puff of air, and he watches Harry blow over his tea, listening to the oddly soothing sound and watching the steam evaporate.

 

Harry wraps both his hands around the mug, sighing contently as the warmth from it washes over him.

 

“So,” he starts softly, “are you too tired to talk tonight?”

 

Louis swallows, gripping his cup tighter and looking into the contents. “What do you mean?” he mumbles.

 

Harry smiles, and Louis glances up just in time to catch it. Except he can tell it's out of sadness rather than anything else, especially so when Harry sighs softly and takes both of their teas and places them on the table again. Louis watches him anxiously as the boy scoots himself so he's facing toward him, legs still curled under his bum. Louis smiles softly watching him as he rests the side of his head against the aft of the couch and stares back.

 

Louis swallows, breaking the eye contact, feeling more anxious without something to hold, to keep himself from looking back at Harry. Harry seems to pick up on that as well, because he takes one of Louis’ hands in his own and tangles their fingers together.

 

“Can I ask you something?” he says softly.

 

Louis nods, looking at their hands.

 

“Are there other reasons to why you're, um, feeling bad?”

 

Louis swallows, shrugging softly. “I don't- I don't know.”

 

Harry nods, eyes scanning his face. “Tell me what you do know?”

 

Louis sighs, turning Harry’s hand over in his own and curling the long fingers into a fist, “I- um, I - I know that it hurts, yaknow, what everyone around here says. And,” he inhales shakily, “I know that it makes me feel guilty, like, keeping something so big away from people like my mom and - and Zayn.”

 

Harry carefully takes one of Louis’ hands and squeezes it, before letting Louis go back to playing with his fingers. Louis laughs breathlessly, so nervous and tired. So much in love with Harry that it scares him, so scared to be here, like this, knowing he may very well not be able to do this again, if even he wants to.

 

He swallows, continues. “I know that I feel like I'm betraying myself, like I said before, and - and that I'm just sad because I'm too scared to - to let myself experience something that will make me happy,” he pauses, feeling his eyes well with tears all over again, saying all these words out loud, “and - and I guess I've always had a pretty shit self-esteem,” he laughs at himself, wiping under his eyes with the sleeves of Harry’s sweater, “so that's, you know, making it worse.”

 

Harry furrows his eyebrows, nodding.

 

Louis looks to him and laughs waterily, rolling his eyes, “Sorry I just used your sweater as a tissue.”

 

“Hey, no. ‘S’no reason to apologise,” he says, voice genuine. It makes more tears well in Louis’ eyes.

 

“Like - like I know that it's not, like, actually immoral to be gay. Like, I know it's not. But,” he pauses, closing his eyes and feeling the tears stream down his cheeks, “but everyone around here makes it seem that way and I just - it’s so _hard._ ”

 

“I know,” Harry murmurs, so quietly he nearly doesn’t hear it, and he squeezes his hand again.

 

“I just wish I could love myself,” he finally says, letting go of Harry’s hands to wipe at his eyes again. He tries to smile, just a little one, but meeting Harry’s eyes and seeing how sad he is makes it disappear, tears slipping down his cheeks quicker and quicker. He goes to wipe at his face again, but Harry beats him to it, wiping his thumbs so tenderly over his cheeks, staring at him with this look that makes Louis feel like he’s seeing everything there is to see of him.

 

“Maybe we shouldn't talk tonight.”

 

“‘M’sorry,” Louis whispers, bottom lip wobbling, and Harry wipes his thumb over it.

  
“Shh,” he hushes, “no need for apologies. You're probably just a bit drained, is all.” He looks up from where he was staring at Louis’ lips and smiles softly, pulling away after a few more moments, “c’mon, why don’t you try this tea, it's probably cooled down enough now.”

 

Harry reaches over to grab the cups, spilling a bit onto the hardwood flooring. He murmurs a quiet ‘oops,’ laughs at himself silently, and pushes one of the cooled-down cups into Louis’ palms.

 

Louis holds it up to his nose again, loving the sweet smell of it. He watches as a stray tear slips from his cheeks and into it, and for some reason it makes him smile, watching the small splash. He meets Harry’s eyes again to see the boy watching him, smiling.

 

It's cooled down enough to drink, and so he takes a small taste. He immediately wrinkles his nose afterwards, making Harry laugh.

 

“This is terrible!” he exclaims, “absolutely awful!”

 

Harry pretends to be offended, turning away from Louis and lifting his chin, “Says the Yorkshire lover.”

 

“Yorkshire is real tea!” Louis says, grinning so big and feeling his left over tears dry on his skin.

 

Harry glares playfully, “I bet you don't put sugar in your tea either.”

 

“Of course not, that just ruins the taste, love,” he smirks and takes another drink of the lemon tea, because it's actually not that bad but he's not letting Harry know that.

 

“You are an abomination!” Harry laughs, eyes so bright and smile so big, “I can't believe I let you in my house!”

 

Louis snorts, wondering how on earth he can go from so sad to laughing _so_  quickly. He shakes his head, smiling into his cup. He keeps his mind focuses on the present moment.

  


________________________________________

  


After their tea, Harry shows Louis where the downstairs bathroom is, and goes and gets more blankets. By the time Louis’ back to the quiet room Harry's moved the couch to the far wall and laid layers of blankets on the floor, along with pillows.

 

“Is it okay if we sleep in here?” Harry asks, peering up from where he's fluffing pillows on the ground, “there are dim lights in here and I figured it would be more comfortable having a sort of night light since you're at a new place and stuff,” he pauses, pushing a stray curl that's come loose from his bun away from his forehead, “plus I thought you wouldn't want to be alone and my beds kind of small, s’just might not be the best way to go tonight, yaknow?”

 

Louis’ overwhelmed by how thoughtful the boy is, all he can do is nod. Harry beams back at him.

  


________________________________________

  


Once Louis’ settled down on top of the layered blankets, and Harry's given him a couple more to cover up with, Harry dims the lights and lays down beside him, they're shoulders just barely touching.

 

It's silent for a moment, both of them staring at the ceiling - faltering breaths. Finally, Harry brushes his hand across Louis’, grabs it softly and squeezes. “Night, Lou,” he says, gentle as always, “wake me up if you need anything, okay? I promise I won't mind.”

 

After Louis nods, Harry smiles at him. “Sweet dreams, Lou.”

 

He turns onto his side, facing away from Louis.

 

________________________________________

  


Louis’ not sure how much time passes, but he can’t sleep.

 

Of course he’s tired, his body begging him through creaky bones and aching movement to close his eyes and force the sleep on himself. He can’t. The mental exhaustion can’t stop the way his heart beats erratically in his chest to thought of Harry lying inches away from him.

 

Arms distance.

 

There’s no way his body can rest when what he yearns so desperately for is so close - something he’s had dreams about. God, so many dreams it should be embarrassing, should make him want to yank his eyelids down and leave this all be. It’s ridiculous to even hope for that.

 

“Harry?” he whispers.

 

Within seconds Harry hums a reply and Louis wonders why he couldn’t sleep either - wonders if it’s the same reason as his own.

 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

 

“I’m not sure,” Harry murmurs back, laughs a breath in the air, “you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Is there anything you need to help?”

 

Louis inhales deeply. Exhaling. “Do- do you think that I could- um, cuddle you?”

 

It falls silent for a moment too long - like blinding headlights you never see, just the screeching of tires on pavement. Metal scraping. Bones cracking. Harry doesn’t even look like he’s breathing, and Louis’ own chest tightens into a sickening knot.

 

“I don't know if that's a very good idea,” he says softly, turning to face him now and propped up on his elbow. He's not looking at Louis.

 

“Yeah,” Louis shakes his head, swallows the rejection, “that's okay - um, sorry.”

 

Harry furrows his eyebrows, still looking down at the space that separates their bodies. “It's not that I don't want that, it's just - I don't know if we’ll talk after this, and - and I won't say it now, because I think you're probably overwhelmed as it is, but I just don't think it's a good idea.”

 

“Say what now?” Louis asks, eyebrows creasing.

 

Harry finally meets Louis’ gaze, and for the first time Louis recognises anxiousness in them. “Not tonight, okay?”

 

Louis shakes his head, sitting up so he can look down at Harry who is still propped on his elbow. “If - if it's something that will overwhelm me I'd rather just hear it now,” he says, _defensively_ , because all he can think about is how he pretty much said he loved Harry tonight (said he was ashamed he couldn't be brave enough to show it,) and Harry looks so... sad, almost.

 

Louis’ brain immediately finds a reason to hold onto - an explanation. He thinks that maybe  Harry is dating someone, and that's why he doesn't want to be non-platonic, that's why it will overwhelm Louis, because it will break his heart.

 

Rational or not he clings to that thought. Racing, diving, growing in his head. His heart.

 

“Lou,” Harry whispers, “I have to watch out for myself too, okay?”

 

Louis feels tears well in his eyes, his face scrunching up. “What does that even mean?” he asks.

 

His head spins, no rationality left, only emotions. Emotions that eat and eat and eat at him until nothing makes sense and everything hurts.

 

A soon as Harry hears his voice crack, sees the tears, he's sitting up on his knees and wiping at Louis’ cheeks, confusion written all over his own face. “Why- why are you crying?”

 

Louis closes his eyes tightly. “Because I just want you to say whatever it is you're not. I just -”

 

His voice cuts out on a weak sob and it goes silent again. God, does he want to be embarrassed - embarrassed from all this crying, all these emotions, but he can’t be, there’s no room for embarrassment when his head doesn't even feel like it's there anymore.

 

Harry's thumb movements over his cheeks began to slow down, before completely stopping, his hands falling from Louis’ face and into his lap.

 

“I'm in love with you,” he whispers, “and I understand you might feel really vulnerable right now, but if we cuddle I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself from wanting more, and I know I'm going to fall even deeper in love with you, and I just don't know if you're ever going to talk to me again after tonight.”

 

A storm grows between them, loud and raging and too dangerous to touch, the kind that makes moms lock the doors and close the shutters. Louis thinks if he could he would reach up and bottle the clouds to keep all of the running lightning and jumping thunder contained - he also thinks that that is what he’s been doing his whole life; bottling things up and hiding them away - running.

 

His heart thuds in his chest, breath stuttering. Harry's eyes are cast down, cheeks red under the dim light. Louis’ ghosting has closed off the bravest person he knows. This he knew but he never wanted to acknowledge.

 

“Harry,” he whispers, voice cracking, dripping desperation, “I'm sorry. I am so _sorry_. I - _god_.”

 

He reaches out and takes Harry's hand, slotting their fingers together and not flinching at the feelings Harry gives him.

 

“I will,” he whispers, silent tears dropping down, “I promise I'll talk to you - I - I really do still have your number saved exactly how you put it in and - I - I still have that fucking scarf and I-”

 

_I still taste you.  Still feel you. Still forget to breathe every time I see you._

 

Harry watches his face carefully, expression vulnerable.

 

“I will,” he whispers, “I want to talk to you every day, Harry. _God_. I want to make you so sick of me. I - I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything-” he sniffles, squeezing at Harry’s hand and getting everything back in return, “I wanted to every day,” he whispers, “and I’m sorry I never did.”

  


________________________________________

  


Harry lies down on his side, the blankets falling at his waist of curves and softness. Louis has dreamed of this, craved this; innocently touching this boy’s soft hips, soft sides - his shoulders to his hands, grasping. His breath hitches silently in his throat at just the thought let alone the sight, the privilege.

 

“C’mon then, Stud,” Harry teases, turning his head to look back at Louis with a silly smirk that makes his dimples look like swimming pools.

 

Louis’ taking off the lifevest that’s grown too tight.

 

He laughs breathlessly, shakes his head, and lies down behind Harry, moulding his front to the boy’s back and squeezing away all the pieces that separate them, and naturally, Harry scoots himself back as if possible to morph the two of them together. Louis wouldn’t object if it were possible.

 

Louis hears Harry hum a sigh of contentment - small, innocent, happy. Slowly, he lifts his hand and trails it over the boy’s shoulder, gentle shapes. He bites his lip, air heavy, and decidedly undoes the hair tie keeping Harry’s hair in a bun.

 

“This okay?” he whispers, yet it still feels loud in the space they’ve created.

 

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, smile growing.

 

He lets out a breath and tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair, brushing through the undone bun and watching his curls unravel, still damp but so beautiful. He buries his nose in the soft curls, smells peaches and sweet cream and summertime.

 

Slowly, he trails his hand down Harry’s shoulder, his arm, until he reaches the boy’s hand where he gently entwines their fingers, letting their clasped hands fall over Harry’s waist. He feels Harry shiver against him, a low, huffed breath escaping his lips.

 

Louis blocks out all of his fears, all of his doubts, his insecurities. He shuts everything down until he’s just feeling basic human contact with someone that makes him feel everything beyond basic human emotions.

 

It’s overwhelming, and it’s hard, and it’s so, _so_  beautiful.

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose further into Harry’s curls and squeezing his eyes shut to keep away all the tears.

  


________________________________________

  
  


They both wake up early morning 7:00a.m to Anne telling them she's going to go help the Saturday farmers market. She smiles at their position, like she's fond, happy. Louis’ never felt such a strong rush of comfort, of support, of something so unimaginable.

 

Once Anne closes the French doors, Harry stretches out his long limbs and turns around beneath the duvets.

 

Louis smiles when they're eyes meet, soft and tired, eyes feeling puffy and exhausted.

 

“I probably look like shit,” he murmurs quietly.

 

Harry takes the small joke so seriously, eyebrows furrowed as he shakes his head and pulls the blankets up beneath his chin. “You're beautiful.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes despite his thudding heart, turning onto his back so Harry won't see him blush and grin. He yawns loudly, feeling so sleep deprived despite the night of sleep. “Thanks for letting me sleepover.”

 

He feels a hand grab his beneath the duvets and he blushes a deeper red, turning his head to Harry.

 

“Lou?” Harry mumbles, voice rough with sleep still.

 

Louis hums in response.

 

“I didn't say it last night, but I don't ever want you to die.”

 

Louis' heart stumbles, his body shudders. He feels himself began to shake and the tears start all over again. “I don't either,” he shakes his head, “I don't want to, I don't. I promise.”

 

Harry shifts closer, pulling Louis into his arms and letting him get what he needs out. “Don't then. Please don't.”

 

Louis feels the weight of his worst thoughts swim in the heaviness of the air around them. It has him choking, gasping.

 

“Okay,” he whispers.

 

________________________________________

  


Whilst Louis takes another shower, Harry makes them pancakes. Louis pads into the kitchen quietly, awkwardly standing in the doorway and watching as Harry rearranges strawberries on one of the pancakes to make a face. His heart thumps wildly when he sees Harry smile to himself as he finishes his arranging - like he’s ridiculously proud of his pancake art. It’s then that Louis decides to step all the way into the room and make his presence known.

 

“Hey,” he murmurs, swallowing his anxiousness.

 

Harry looks up, a bit startled, but his cheeks dimple nonetheless. “Hi, I made you a pancake.”

 

Louis blushes at the sweet enthusiasm. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

 

Harry beams at him, motioning to Louis to sit down where wooden bar stools are lined along the counter. Louis does, and raises an eyebrow when Harry opts for standing across from Louis on the other side of the kitchen marble. Harry only shrugs.

 

“Very artistic,” Louis finally murmurs, smiling at the pancake Harry decorated for him. It’s quite honestly the cutest thing he’s ever seen, reminds him of his little sisters and when he takes them to get Mickey Mouse pancakes at the local diner.

 

(His subconscious stores away images of Harry there with them, decorating pancakes and laughing and making all the littles fall in love with him the same way he got Louis too.)

 

“Thank you very much,” Harry beams, happily flushed.

 

Louis looks back to his food, taking small bites out of nerves. The lack of talk about what’s going to happen with them has his stomach twisting in knots, coiling up into his throat and choking him with anxiety. It’s not helping that Harry is so close to him, leaning on his elbows as he digs into his own pancake. His shirt collar is loose and Louis can see his chest from the angle and _god_. How is he expected to breathe?

 

“You don’t have to eat it if you’re not hungry - like I get that you’re probably not up for eating and I-”

 

“What now?” Louis interrupts nervously, “I mean - with us?”

 

Harry swallows weakly, setting his fork down on his plate. The small rattle of the fork hitting down makes a burning in Louis’ ears - hyper aware of the noise and everything around him as he waits for Harry’s answer desperately.

 

“I think you need to figure some things out for yourself.”

 

Louis blinks with lined eyebrows.

 

Harry is silent, and Louis can feel his gaze. He sighs again, making tears want to well in Louis’ eyes because _what?_   What is that supposed to _mean_? A hand touches his own on the countertop and he flinches away from the touch, startled. He looks up, eyes wide, and he catches Harry's stare.

 

“I - I honestly didn't know that it was so hard for you - hiding yourself,” Harry swallows, “I would have never came onto you the way I did if I knew.”

 

Louis inhales shakily, eyebrows creasing further. “I liked what- what _happened_  between us, Harry. I like you, I mean-”

 

Harry smiles softly, touching Louis’ hand again and cutting him off. Louis doesn’t flinch this time. “I liked it too, and I like you too, but you're so _scared_ , Lou. You weren't comfortable with what you are then and you're still not, yaknow?”

 

Louis is so sick of crying but here he goddamn is.

 

“You just need to think about some things, figure ‘em out for yourself.”

  


“Is this your way of saying you'd rather just be friends?” Louis murmurs, wiping his hand over his face. He feels so exhausted, his shoulders begin to shake. He starts _bawling_. “That I'm too late?”

 

“Louis,” Harry says softly and so confused sounding, “look at me.”

 

Louis begins to full out sob. _God_ , his head is so muddled up and he is so emotionally drained yet he is still fucking crying so easily as his emotions get the best of him.

 

He just - he wants Harry so _bad_. He's all he ever thinks about anymore, the only face he looks for at school, in crowds. Everything about him is everything he wants. Louis can't imagine himself feeling this way about anyone else and even if he did he would pick Harry every time.

 

(He wants him so much and he's so goddamn scared, and he _knows_  that those two aren't going to coexist together. They can't and they won’t.)

 

Harry walks around the counter, hesitantly putting a hand on Louis’ knee. “Louis,” he says with furrowed eyebrows, “that's- that's not what I meant, if it was I wouldn't have said what I did last night. I just - I want you to be happy -” and Louis’ about to cut in and say he'd be happy if he could have _him_ , but then Harry adds on, “with yourself.,” and Louis’ never experienced so much love and radiance in one person.

 

Harry is so beyond his years but has the heart of a child. So gentle and kind. Everything about him surprises Louis again and again because it's so unbelievable that such a sweet, selfless boy exists.

 

He wants Louis to love himself right. He wants that more than indulging himself.

 

“What do I do?” he asks so pathetically, his body aching from emotional and mental exhaustion.

 

Harry squeezes his knee. “Does anyone know you're gay?”

 

Louis shakes his head. “Only you.”

 

Harry exhales shakily. “It really helped me when I told my mom,” he says, “and I mean - it's like something just changed in me. Her knowing and loving me was something I didn't realize I even needed so desperately.”

 

Louis breathes in.

 

“You need people who you can be 100% yourself around, and - and I think that's why it's helped me so much telling her. It's like I could fake it all day at school, who I was, but I shouldn't at home. Not where I live and not with my mom, yaknow?”

 

“What if it doesn't go well, though?”

 

Harry frowns. “You have no obligation to keep people in your life who don't support who you are as a person,” he pauses, biting his lip, “and - and there's always my house, by the way. If something went wrong you could stay here,” Harry takes in a deep breath, looking hesitant, “but if you know it's not going to go down well, then maybe - maybe you shouldn't say anything.”

 

Harry frowns and looks down, thinking. Louis watches with tears blurring his vision.

 

“I-I just know what helped me, Louis. But you're  not me. I don't - I don't even _know_  you that well, like _personally_. I just - I watch you and wish I did.” Harry sounds so hurt, “but that's why you need to think about all of this. You need to be comfortable with who are, and - and I'm saying this as a friend, okay? You _deserve_  to be comfortable with who you are.”

 

Louis closes his eyes. “What about us?”

 

“Us?” Harry's raises an eyebrow, smile present. Louis nods and Harry looks down with a blush, biting his lip. “Maybe that's something else you should think about, like, if you could handle that. If you - if you want to be something… with me.”

 

Louis swallows and nods, looking down. Harry takes it as an opportunity to wipe his thumbs under Louis’ eyes and over his cheeks, touch tender and loving.

 

“I don't usually cry this much,” Louis says with a wet laugh, “I don't usually cry at all, actually. I'm sorry.”

 

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes. “Crying is good for you, don't worry,” he smiles, “this stuff isn't easy, either. I'm not judging you.”

 

Louis leans into Harry's soft touch that's still against his cheek, smiling softly. He can't believe how sweet Harry is.

 

“You make good pancakes,” he says, and Harry beams, “I can barely make mac n cheese without burning the house down.”

 

Harry laughs so loud Louis swears the ground shakes.

  


________________________________________

  
  


Harry walks Louis home, hands in pockets and their shoulders bumping.

 

“I really want to kiss you again,” Harry murmurs, standing on the ground at Louis’ doorstep whilst Louis’ on the steps above him, “but I'm not going to, not today.”

 

Louis nods, looking down.  

 

Harry grabs and squeezes his hand, but drops it quick enough so if anyone saw they wouldn't think anything of it, “Think about things. There's no rush.”

 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

  


________________________________________

  
  


**monday 1:34 a.m.**

**[sent]**

 

i wanted just on e thing from u everything, everything, it’s everything

  


**monday 1:42 a.m.**

**[sent]**

 

im thinking about everything u said nd more. just wanted to let u kno

  
  


________________________________________

  
  


**wednesday 11:59 a.m.**

**[sent]**

 

im srry that dick ruined ur sweater. i’m gunna put his shoes in the toilet at football practice

 

**wednesday 6:58 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

haha he was so m a dd. sm1 even pissed on em !!

  


**wednesday 7:02 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

hope it dsn’t bother u i did tha. i kno ur a lot more mature and forgiving and loving. he did deserve it tho

 

________________________________________

  


Thursday he signs himself out of school 2 periods early and makes the 45 minute drive into the city. It's a secret trip, which is why he's signed out for part of school so his coach doesn't question his absence of football practice and so his family doesn't know why he went.  
  
Truthfully, it was something that he signed up for with trembling fingertips, and the only way he managed to go was through sheer force of himself.   
_  
_ _You have to, you need to, you have to, you need to. Need to, need to, need to_.   
  
He signed up online for a meeting with a professional counselor that specifies in adolescent identity and growth.   
  
On the drive into the city he had to pull over and take a breather, his anxiety getting the best of him. He knew he was going to have to face a lot of feelings he had been trying forever not to face and it was overwhelming at least.   
  
The thing is, he knows it's okay to be gay, and he knows why the people around him are the way they are, and he also knows he's not ashamed of being gay, but ashamed that he's not able to embrace it the way he wants.   
  
The thing is, it all goes perfectly for Louis. There's so much relief in saying things he's kept bottled up for years now. And it's not to say that he suddenly feels better about himself, no, but he has two phonecall appointments for the following weeks and he suddenly feels like, after today's accomplishments, he _can_  feel better about himself.   
  
When he gets home his mom asks how school and football practice was.   
  
"Good. Really, really good."

  
  


________________________________________

  


Louis’ on the couch in his lounge pants and a t-shirt, flicking over Harry’s contact again and again. It’s saturday afternoon, and he’s babysitting the kids so his mom and step-dad could go visit his step-dad’s sister who's going through a divorce. He set up a disney marathon for all of them, except of course his baby brother who's asleep in the downstairs crib.

 

The younger girls are all entranced with whispering to one another and watching the movie _Pinocchio_ , and Lottie’s in the kitchen mixing popcorn, marshie’s, and m&m’s.

 

And he’s just thinking of Harry. Always is.

 

They haven’t officially talked since Halloween, because Louis wants to do what Harry said and take time to figure out his head. Because he knows if he went out of the overwhelming state he was in and straight into Harry it would be confusing and maybe too much. If he could though, he'd have Harry now until forever.

  


**Saturday 4:50 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

wish u were with me right now

  


He stares at Harry’s contact until he sees the ‘read’ receipt flick up, cheeks flushing like they always do when he sees that Harrys read his messages. He stares for a minute, scrolling through previous texts he has sent the beautiful boy and thinking of how he has read each one.

 

He wonders if Harry kept them, maybe screenshotted them or wrote them down.

 

“H? Are you seeing Hannah again?” Lottie mumbles through a popcorn filled mouth, rounding the couch and flopping down beside him with the big bowl of treats.

 

Louis jumps, fumbling with his phone and locking it. “What- no- it's no one,” he blurts.

 

Her eyes narrow in suspicion.

 

“I'm serious, it's no one!”

 

“Well clearly it's someone unless you're texting yourself,” she kicks at his leg lazily, “so is it Hannah? I liked her. She's good at doing makeup.”

 

“You're too pretty for all that makeup crap,” Louis mumbles, stealing some popcorn, “and no it's not Hannah.”

 

“Then who is it? Cmon, you can trust me!” She says, waggling her eyebrows.

 

“It's just my friend Harry,” he says, picking at his sweat threads and not looking at Lottie.

 

“Harry? Then why did you send such a-” she pauses, looking over her brother, “wait, Louis. Do- do you like a _boy_.”

 

Louis clears his throat, shrugging, hiding his vulnerability.

 

“Oh my god, Harry… Harry? Where does he work? Have I ever seen him?”

 

And… Louis’ surprised by this. He was expecting anything but this, anything but this casualness.

 

“Farmers Market, and probably, yeah. He goes to all the football matches.”

 

Lottie hums, thinking. “What's he look like, can't picture him.”

 

“Long, curly hair. Dimples. Sort of a mix of masculine and feminine.”

 

Lottie lights up. “Oh my god, I know who you're talking about! He wears hair bows sometimes and always gives the little ones fruit candy!”

 

Louis smiles shyly, looking down. “Yeah, that's him.”

 

“He's so cute, God. You guys would look so good together.”

 

Louis swallows. “Um, so it doesn't bother you?”

 

“You're my fucking brother, even if it did I wouldn't let it show,” she rolls her eyes, “but it doesn't, so.”

 

“It doesn't?”

 

“Not at all, Jesus. Believe it or not, but not everyone around here is narrow-minded,” she rolls her eyes.

 

Louis swallows. “Do you think- um, mom would care?”

 

Lottie chews the inside of her cheek. “I don't know. I hope she wouldn't.”

 

“Me too.”

 

After a few minutes it sinks in that he just told Lottie he likes a boy. The amount of relief it brings him to have told someone and not get a bad reaction is unprecedented.

 

He smiles.

  


**saturday 5:12 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

:-)

  


________________________________________

  


**monday 5:40 a.m.**

**[sent]**

 

i woke up so giddy because its monday and i get to see you and youre always so pretty :-)

  
  


**monday 12:50 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

hope it’s not weird that i can’t stop staring at u. ur so pretty. god. u just lookd up from ur book and smiled at me and i swear i cnt breathe.

  


**monday 12:57 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

god ur blush drives me insane

  


**monday 1:00 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

i want to find all the things that turn u pink like that

  


**monday 1:04 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

i don't want to evr stop looking at u

  


________________________________________

  


**thursday 12:10 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

i noticed ur frilly socks when u were scratching ur ankle. i just wanted to say they're super cute on u and i smile every time i think of u wearin em

  


**thursday 12:14 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

i want to buy you cute stuff like that btw

  


**thursday 12:17 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

i want to braid ur hair too nd put bows in it nd kiss u and feel ur frilly socks rub against my ankles

  


**thursday 12:20 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

i just want you

  


________________________________________

  
  


He tells Zayn.

 

They’re playing Fifa in Zayn's basement, except Zayn is more or less just chain smoking his way to lung cancer and Louis is letting him do it whilst mindlessly kicking a ball about in a game.

 

Zayn is going on about how he’s talking to this bird; that she’s a real looker and he has it so bad for her. Louis teases him a bit about it, loving how red his face gets. After a lull, though, Zayn asks why Louis hasn't had a girl in a while, asks if he has his eye on anyone.

 

In a split second he thinks of Harry.

 

Harry and his smile, his dimples, his sweet, sweet laugh. He thinks of his beautiful curls, his beautiful eyes, his beautiful kindness. God, Louis doesn’t know how he kept all these things to himself, all these thoughts. He’s filled to the brim with words he’s been dying to share.

 

Like, _fuck._

 

And god, he knows he has to allow himself this peace. He wants it, needs it, fucking deserves it.

 

“Um,” he takes a deep breath, “yeah. You could say that,” he mumbles, eyes on the screen.

 

“Well, who is it?”

 

“Um, you know Styles?” he mumbles, refusing to look at Zayn, trying to pass his vulnerability for casual.

 

“Yeah, course I do.”

 

Louis clears his throat awkwardly. “Well, uh, that's who.”

 

After a beat of silence, Louis chances a glance to Zayn, only to find Zayn with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

 

“What?” Louis asks, nervously.

 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, “he's cute.”

 

Louis blushes, closing his eyes for a moment. He pauses the game and sits the controller down, laying back on the floor to stare at the ceiling. “Zayn?”

 

Zayn hums in response.

 

“I'm so fucking gay.”

 

Zayn snorts. “Don't worry ‘bout it, mate.”

 

Louis watches Zayn stub out another cigarette on the concrete of the basement, before lying down on his back on the rug and stretching out beside him.

 

Louis swallows nervously. “I'm not, like, _joking_ , Z. Like, I'm really gay, and I get if you don't, like, suppor-

 

“Shut up, oh my god,” Zayn laughs, throwing his empty pack of cigs at Louis, “I literally don't care, Lou. I've got gay uncles, cool as fuck.”

 

Louis blinks, says, “Oh.”

 

Zayn props himself up on his elbows, smiling sympathetically. Louis feels Zayn’s foot nudge against his thigh, looking down and seeing that he’s wearing little reindeer socks, “I'm sorry we live in the shithole we do, though, bro. Especially if it made ya’ think I'd actually care that you like dick,” Louis laughs breathlessly, feeling elated, whilst Zayn continues, “is this why you've been acting funny? Did you have your big gay moment and get freaked out?”

 

Louis laughs, cringing as it trails off nervously and he scratches the back of his neck, not quite looking at Zayn. “Actually, uhm-” he coughs awkwardly, “I've known since like, 8th grade.”

 

Zayns eyes widen. “Are you fucking joking?”

 

Louis shakes his head no, smiling hesitantly.

 

“Okay, first off, fuck you. Two, does this mean I'm allowed to hook up with your exes? And three, why have you been acting funny?”

 

“Yeah, sorry. Yes, you can. And, uh-” Louis blinks, his body flooding with sadness, “things were getting a bit overwhelming, I guess you could say?”

 

Zayn looks him over slowly, carefully, like he doesn't completely believe it but does enough to let it slide. Finally, he nods. Then he sits up, folding his arms over his knees, “I got some weed from James, wanna smoke a bowl and fawn over Styles?”

 

Louis does just that.

  


________________________________________

  


**saturday 2:46 a.m.**

**[sent]**

 

told zaynn

  


________________________________________

  


**sunday 8:34 a.m.**

**[sent]**

 

had a dream that we lived together and now i can t stop smiling 

  
  
  


________________________________________

  
  
  


He’s in a lilac sweater, his hair in a french braid and rolling down his neck. God, Louis can’t take his eyes off the boy, he’s so beautiful. Louis doesn’t even understand how a pale purple sweater can make someone's eyes look like fucking magic but God, Harrys _eyes._

 

Harry has to know it too, that he can't control his staring - if his light blush and shy smiles are anything to go by. He looks down with his precious smile, plays with the sleeves of his sweater, glances to Louis quickly only to flush darker than before. God, he smiles just a little bigger, dimples poking through. Louis just wants to get up and go sit in his lap, kiss him senseless, he’s so smitten and in love.

 

_Fuck._

  


“Can we have partners?” Someone asks.

 

“As long as it doesn't get too loud, I'll allow partners,” the teacher says, “No groups, though!” She adds as an afterthought.

 

Louis zeroes in on the words, eyes moving from Harry to the teacher and back again. Harry meets his eyes at the teacher's words, and Louis raises his eyebrows. Harry only smiles and bites his lip, looking down at his hands again.

 

“Tommo, c’mon mate. You're my partner,” Stan says, flipping his book open with a sigh.

 

“Yeah, I'll work with ya, too.” Liam chides from his other side.

 

Louis shakes his head, frowning when everyone is moving desks and Harry is still alone, flipping through the textbook and smiling to himself - like he knows exactly what Louis is planning on doing.

 

“Already got a partner, sorry,” he mutters without second thought, quickly gathering his stuff up and making his way over to where Harry is sitting. He doesn't even look back to see his mates reactions.

 

He sets his stuff on the desk beside Harry and bites his lip. When he turns to ask Harry his question Harrys already looking at him, same gentle smile as always, eyebrows raised.

 

“Are you working with anyone?” he finally asks, soft and shy and smiling.

 

Harry’s smile grows, teeth biting into his bottom lip. He shakes his head.

 

“Would you want to work with me maybe?” He asks, his own smile growing.

 

“Okay,” he murmurs shyly, cheeks pink and perfect. God.

 

Louis beams and scoots his desk up beside Harry’s, and Harry slides his textbook over so they can share it. Louis’ entire body is buzzing warmly, Harry only inches away from him, he could move just slightly and they'd be touching. He’s never felt so at peace at school and he never wants to give this up.

 

Louis fiddles with his pencil, smile still on his face and heart beating so rapidly. “You- um. You look really nice today.”

 

Harry looks at him with wide eyes. “Thank you,” he replies breathlessly.

 

“Yeah, your- your hair looks really um,” Louis grins, shaking his head, “it looks really pretty like that.”

 

Harry beams, reaching back and running his fingers over the braid. “Thank you! You look really pretty just like that!”

 

Louis laughs, heart flipping. “Just like this?” He says with a raised eyebrow, gesturing to himself.

 

Harry’s dimples are like craters, eyes shining. He reaches out and fixes the sleeve of Louis’ t-shirt, fingers skimming his skin and making them both blush red. “Yeah,” he murmurs.

 

Louis doesn't even care how obvious they look, doesn’t care about anything but Harry’s smile and his shining eyes and the way his fingers feel against his skin.

 

He can't shake the grin from his face, even as he looks down and bites his lip. “We've got work to do, I guess.”

 

Harry nods with his smile, fingers playing with his own sleeves again. Louis finds it hopelessly endearing. “I read ahead over the weekend, so I already have the first five questions answered. If you want you can look over them and see what you think a-”

 

“Wait, wait, _wait_. You read _ahead_?” Louis smirks, tone light and teasing.

 

“I wanted to read about Epicureanism!”

 

“ _Harry Styles_ ,” Louis teases, “not just smart but a bit of a _nerd._ ”

 

Harry turns his chin into his shoulder, honest to god actually _giggling_  with his pink dimples and glittering eyes. “Shut up,” he murmurs back, no bite whatsoever.

 

Louis grins, unable to stop himself from reaching out and curling his finger around a curly wisp of hair that frames Harrys face. Harry’s too beautiful to sit this close to and not have some type of contact with, Louis thinks, softly twirling the curly wisp.

 

For a moment they both just stop and stare at each other, ears falling deaf to everything around them. Their smiles are wide but private, soaking in one another's presence. Louis’ wanted just this for so long now.

 

Reluctantly, Louis pulls his hand away, clearing his throat with a grin. “I s’pose we should get to this, then, eh?” he says, “if we get it done fast enough then you'll have time to tell me about Epicureanism.”

 

Harry’s smile is worth the world. It always has been.

  
  


**monday 7:42 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

you looked so pretty today, h. i don't kno if you noticed but i cld barely even look away

  
  


**monday 7:48 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

also i may or may not be reading up on epicureanism

  


________________________________________

  


Louis ended up confessing everything about Harry to Zayn - every stupid little detail. From halloween night over a year ago, through constant pining and emotions and random treats that seemed suspicious of the pretty boy, to meeting him again on halloween just a few weeks ago. He told him everything aside from his passive but overwhelming thoughts of suicide.  
  
Zayn told him, quote, "You're a fucking idiot, Jesus Christ," end quote.   
  
Zayn also went on to tell him a lot of other stuff. Like how they just happen to live in a little hick village of religious bozos who think women should cook dinner and the only sex position god approves of is missionary.   
  
He told Louis in a weed rant (that they later decided to call a heart-to-heart) that Louis can be as gay as he wants, that it's totally okay if he wants to suck Harrys dick and have babies with him. Love is love, and if he loves the dick than he can have the dick.   
  
Louis was touched, really.   
  
But later when they were no longer high, Zayn reaffirmed everything he said, and also asked some genuine questions. One of those questions was if his mom knew.   
  
Because Louis' mom, aside from Zayn, was his best friend. He helped his mom through her divorce, with the kids, supported her in her second marriage, and was always there for her, as she was for him.   
  
He's a big mamma's boy and he's proud of that.   
  
And he knows this is something he needs to tell her. It's like what Harry said, how his mom just wasn't someone be could keep it from.   
  
(That's what makes it so much harder, though. If his mom doesn't accept it'd he'll break, he knows he will.)   
  
So when Zayn told him that he couldn't ever imagine his mom hating him for something like that, he was _relieved_. Because Zayn knows his mom in an unbiased and unblinded way, and if Zayn thinks it's safe to tell her, than he believes it, though anxiously.   
  
Anxiously because his mom is keen on praying at the table and packing them all to church every week.   
  
And fuck, Louis knows just because someone is religious it doesn't mean they're homophobic, but it does make it more likely that they are from all Louis' seen.   
  
(Louis actively reminds himself that he's never once heard a homophobic slur come from his mother's mouth, has never seen a scowl from things on the news. He reminds himself of his mother's advice when worshipping: "worship God, not the word of God.")   
  
When he does tell her, it's whilst they are on the couch watching a chick flick together. His step dad took the girls out for apple cider and to look at the Festival of Lights, and his baby brother was asleep upstairs in his crib.   


Louis wrung his hands together, slowly building up the courage. His heart raced, and he knew he had to tell her.  
  
“Mom?” he says, hesitant.   
  
Jay looks from the tv to him, raising an eyebrow. When she sees Louis’ head bowed, staring down at his hands and not at the television or at her, she gets concerned.   
  
“You okay, Louis?” She asks, focusing her attention to her son.   
  
Louis inhales deeply and nods." I need to tell you something," he says. He closes his eyes, "and-and I hope you won't hate me for it."   
  
Jays eyebrows furrow, and she quickly sits up, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie they're watching. After a moment of concerned silence passes, Jay speaks up.   
  
“Louis, is everything okay?”   
  
Louis inhales deeply, staring at his hands. Tears welm his eyes, so he closes them again. “I'm gay.”   
  
“I-" she falters, pauses, " _oh_.”   
  
It's silent, and Louis begins to cry softly. He can't even look at his mom in the moment, he feels so anxious and vulnerable.   
  
“I'm sorry,” he whispers, because he doesn't know what else to say but he wants to fill the silence with something other than his erratic heartbeat and soft cries.   
  
“What- no, _Louis_ ,” his mom says quickly, and Louis feels her scoot closer, feels her wrapping her arms around him, “why are you apologizing?”   
  
“Because I don't - don't want you to be disappointed,” he whispers through his tears, shaking.   
  
“Honey, _no_. I'm not disappointed,” she reassures, stroking the side of his face softly, “I'm a little surprised, but that's all.”   
  
“It's okay, then?” He asks quietly, looking to her.   
  
She runs her hand through his hair. “Of course it's okay. You're my _son_ , Louis. I'll support and love you know matter what you are."   
  
Louis lets out a cry of relief, shoulders shaking as his head drops to his hands. He feels his mother's arms wrap around him, hugging him tight.   
  
"Honey," she coos, concern clear in her tone, "how long has this been bothering you? How long have you been hiding this?"   
  
Louis clenches his eyes closed, choked cry trying to escape his throat. "Eighth grade."   
  
"Baby," she whispers in disbelief, "oh, honey. Come here. It's all okay. You're okay," she whispers to him. "I'm sorry you felt you had to hide that from me for so long. I can't imagine how hard this must've been."   
  
Louis feels the weight of emotional drainage fall heavy on him. His mom suddenly gasps, pulling back to look at Louis.   
  
"We live - _god_ , Louis please tell me you don't believe the awful things people say around here."   
  
Louis lets out a wet laugh, shaking his head. "S'okay mom. I don't. S'bit hard sometimes but-but it's okay."   
  
His mother sighs, relieved. "Okay, honey. They're all wrong anyway, I promise."

  
It's quiet for a moment, his mom rocking him back and forth in their sitting position. Just holding him.

  
"You haven't been hiding a secret boyfriend, have you?"   
  
Louis laughs a little, wiping under his nose. "No, mom. No secret boyfriend."   
  
"You and Zayn haven't been secretly dating then?"   
  
"Mom!" Louis laughs, "no!"

  
  


________________________________________

  
  


**Friday 10:30 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

first day of my life - bright eyes

  


________________________________________

  


**sunday 4:30 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

took my sisses into town and they bought frilly socks nd now i cant stop thinkin about yo u

  
  
  


________________________________________

  
  


Louis’ just coming into school when he sees it. Him and Zayn are walking side by side, the smell of smoke still fresh in his nose. He always goes out to the parking lot on lunch break with Zayn to keep him company whilst he kills his craving, and then they go fuck about for the rest of their lunch break.

 

When they walk back into the school building the first thing they're greeted with is the sight of Harry’s chest pushed against the lockers, his peach sweater rucked up on his back and a few of the football players laughing and taunting him.

 

Louis’ blood boils at the sight.

 

“Can't believe you got a fucking tramp stamp, Styles! Look at that!”

 

“Like boys staring at that when they fuck ya, eh? _Slut_.”

 

“Hold on, mate. I gotta get a picture of this.”

 

Louis hears Harry whimper, actually _whimper_  in vulnerability, something he's never shown before. He tries to pull his sweater down and turn back around but one of the boys, Jake, shoves him back against the lockers and pins him there so the other can get a picture.

 

As soon as the boys hands touch Harry, Louis sees red.

 

“Get your fucking hands off of him,” Louis grits, rushing toward the group and tearing Jake’s hands from Harrys body.

 

“Tommo, the sissy gots a fucking bow above his ass-”

 

Louis snakes a hand around Harry's waist and turns him so he's facing forward again, pulling him tight into his side and glaring daggers at the boys giving him confused looks.

 

He quickly grabs the boy's phone who was taking a picture, and when the boy protests and goes to grab his phone back, Zayn grabs his wrists.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

 

Louis ignores him, clicking the corner icon where the guys photos are. He deletes the three photos he took and then goes to his deleted folder and erases them from there too.

 

“Fuck, Tommo, why you standing up for this fag, we were just messin’ around.” Jake mutters, not bothering to help his friend get free from Zayn. They're all bark and no bite.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” he spits, shoving the guys phone against his chest. Zayn frees his arms and lets him grab it.

 

“If I see you touch him again you're off the team.”

 

The boys eyebrows furrow. “Since when do you care about-”

 

“Touch him again,” Louis repeats, curling his fingers into Harrys side and pulling him closer to himself, “and you're off the fucking team.”

 

“Whatever, man,” one mutters. They look back to Zayn before turning and leaving, muttering more bullshit to one another.

 

“You okay, mate?” Zayn asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he looks at Harry. It's the first time Louis looks at his face since the start of all of this mess, and he sees tears in the boy's eyes and a small cut on his cheek bone, probably from the ridges of the lockers.

 

Harry noticeably swallows, nodding. “Thank you,” he murmurs, looking between the two of them shyly.

 

Louis tightens his grip on the boy's waist, turning towards him more. “You're bleeding, love,” he murmurs, ignoring the few stray people who walk by in the hallway as he brushes his thumb beneath the cut.

 

Harrys eyes widen, a blush flushing his cheeks.

 

“You need cleaned up,” he adds in concern, meeting Harrys eyes.

 

“I'm going to go talk with the office about that absence,” Zayn says to Louis with a certain look, knowing Louis needs alone time with the boy, before turning to Harry, “take care, mate, yeah?”

 

Harry nods, staying quiet.

 

Once Zayn begins walking away, Louis looks to Harry. “Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?”

 

Harry is quiet, and not in his adorably shy way, but unusually. The boy oozes an insecurity that Louis’ never seen on him before, and something about that is heart wrenching.

 

When they get into the restroom he locks the door, fear of being caught still very real, and he guides Harry so his bum is pressed to the countertop, murmurs a quiet ‘stay’ as he turn to get a few paper towels. Harry doesn't stay, instead lifts himself up so he's sitting on the counter, and Louis can't complain about that.

 

He wets the paper towel with cold water, aware of Harrys eyes on him.

 

“I'm sorry they did that.”

 

Harry sighs, closing his eyes as Louis dabs at the small cut on his upper cheek. “It's fine. It's a ridiculous tattoo, no surprise they did what they did when they saw it.”

 

Louis furrows his eyebrows, slowing his movements. “What's that supposed to mean?”

 

“It's just a really terrible tattoo, like, it literally _is_  a tramp stamp. It begs to be ridiculed.”

 

Louis sighs, pulling away. “I like it.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You don't have to lie to me.”

 

Louis swallows. “I don't- I don't know what to say,” he says, stepping away from Harry, “I've never seen you this way.”

 

Harrys eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What way?”

 

“Like… not okay and stuff.”

 

Harrys eyes flash with sadness. “I'm- I'm not always okay. I try to be but - but I have bad days. I don't love myself all the time.”

 

I love you all the _time_ , Louis wants to say.

 

He doesn't.

 

Instead he takes a deep breath and reaches down and grabs Harry’s hand, squeezing it.

 

“Thanks for deleting the pictures he took, by the way. It's embarrassing enough knowing the tattoo is there, don't know how I'd cope if the whole school knew.”

 

Louis laughs under his breath. “What's embarrassing is the fact that I've wanked to it.”

 

Harry's breath hitches, cheeks flaming as Louis begins pressing the wet towelette to his skin again. “H-have you really?”

 

"I wasn't lying when I said I really like it," Louis says, dabbing at Harrys cut, trying to pretend he isn’t affected by the fact he admitted what he just did.   
  
"I-" Harry swallows, "oh."   
  
Louis smiles awkwardly, not quite making eye contact. "Sorry if that was weird to say out loud."   
  
"No!" Harry says quickly, loudly. He flinches at the volume his words, reaffirming quieter, "no. I- it's not weird. I- I just didn't - wasn't expecting that." He trails off, breathless, eyes wide and glossy.   
  
Louis puts a hand on his thigh and squeezes reassuringly. He goes to move it but Harry takes hold of it, throat noticeably moving as the boy audibly swallows.   
  
"I-" Harry says, going quiet. He blinks slowly, moving Louis' hand to rest on his hip.  

  
Louis let's out a breath, the hand holding the damp towel pulling back. "Harry," he murmurs softly.   
  
Harry wets his lips with his tongue, breath gentle, shuddered.

 

"Fuck," Louis mutters, dropping the damp towelette and surging forward, lips moulding to Harrys.    
  
Harry melts into the kiss, arms wrapping over Louis' shoulders and fingers diving into his hair. Their eyes flutter close, lips gentle but desperate. The air hangs heavy around them with pent up emotions, frustrations.

 

Louis’ fingernails dig into Harry’s hips, making the boy gasp lightly as he slowly licks his way into Harry’s mouth, both of them moaning softly. He tugs Harry by his hips closer to him, and Harry wraps his legs around Louis’ waist, sitting on the edge of the countertop.

 

He tugs on Louis’ hair lightly, pulling the boy's head back so it's tilted up and he can kiss him deeper this way - more desperate, more filthy, _everything_. The kiss makes them shudder, gasps slipping through any open space between their lips and filling the bathroom.

 

Louis’ hands trace from his hips to his back, where he dives them beneath Harry’s shirt. He can feel everything beneath his fingertips; Harrys soft skin, his fluttering muscles, the knobs of his spine. God, this boy is so much and Louis can never get enough.  

 

Gently, he traces his fingers over the place he knows the little bow tattoo is, pressing his thumb into the skin and just feeling, like if he touches long enough he’ll be able to tell the difference between his pure skin and inked skin.

 

The simple gesture has Harry moaning quietly, slowly grinding his crotch against Louis’ hip.

 

“Fuck,” Harry mutters in his deep, breathless voice, “I love you so much, Louis.”

 

Louis’ heart pounds in his throat like it's trying to claw its way up and present itself to Harry, because _god_ , that's how far gone he is for this boy. One of his arms curls around Harry’s lower back, whilst the other does so on his upper back, fingers curling around Harry’s shoulder so the boy can’t back away, can’t leave.

 

Their breaths are heavy, loud - bouncing off the tiles of the restroom along with wet smacking noises and soft groans. Louis can feel Harry trying to tighten his legs around him, try to get closer and closer and closer as if there’s any space left between them. Louis lets him, though. Lets him press his cock into his hip and use him to get off, lets him lick into his mouth, lets him tangle his fingers into his hair.

 

Harry eventually breaks the kiss to get a breath in, and Louis sees it as a chance to duck down and start sucking on his neck. He licks just below the boy’s ear, bites gently, rolling the soft skin between his teeth. Harry gasps, hips jerking and head tilting away involuntarily.

 

Louis unwraps one of his arms from around the boy’s back and tangles it in his long hair, tugging his head back by his hair to get him where he wants him. “Don’t move,” he breathes against his neck.

 

He goes back to biting at the spot he was before, biting down again and tasting a sweet rust. He laps at the small bit of blood, then begins sucking at the mark until he’s confident it’s dark and beautiful and going to be there awhile.

 

His lips trail back to Harry’s, his hand loosening in the boy’s hair so the boy can move his head how he pleases. Harry immediately kisses back, deep and perfect and a bit forceful. His whimpers are soft and muffled and Louis can actually feel his desperation as he ruts himself harder and faster against his hip.

 

“Please,” he breaks the kiss to whine, bottom lip trembling against Louis’ where their mouths are faintly touching.

 

“C’mon,” Louis mutters, wrapping the boy up in his arms again, pressing their chests together and letting Harry’s head fall against his shoulder, “you can do it.”

 

Harry’s whimper sounds like a weak sob, his arms wrapping around Louis’ neck and fingers tightening in his hair. Louis can feel each of his breaths against his neck, feel the small whines against his skin. The boy is desperately rutting against Louis, legs tightening and body clinging to Louis’.

 

Louis’ so hard it hurts but he ignores it, favours the idea of Harry coming in his pants with a sob.

 

And that’s just what happens. Harry’s breath hitches and his body tenses, and then the prettiest little cry Louis’ ever heard is muffled against his neck, Harry’s body trembling.

 

He holds the boy close and tight as he slowly comes down from his high, hips still jerking against his own every other moment. It isn’t until he feels the boy’s fingers loosen their grips on his hair that he pulls back, just enough to take in the sight of the boy.

 

And god.

 

He can’t help but laugh breathlessly, smile soft. Harry’s eyes are black and glossy and wide, cheeks splotchy red, and his lips. _Fuck_. His lips, they’re so dark and swollen and beautiful. He cups Harrys face in his hands, runs his fingers back to curl his long hair behind his ears, and he leans in and kisses him softly.

 

Harry melts into the kiss, sighing out a short breath in contentment.

 

When Louis pulls away, he sees the dark bruise coloured spot on Harry’s neck and grins wickedly. He presses his thumb into the mark, watching as Harrys eyebrows furrow and lips part, a breathy moan escaping his lips.

 

“You jizzed in your pants,” he says with a smirk.

 

Harrys lips turn up into a grin, and he shakes his head. “Felt good, too. Now help clean me up.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, unwrapping Harry's legs from around him and getting a towelette. He dips it beneath the faucet water.

 

“Unbutton your jeans for me, will ya?” he asks as he shuts the water off. He steps back in between Harry's legs and watches the boy fumble with the button on his jeans.

 

Louis’ eyes widen at the sight of light pink pants, even more so by the size of the wet patch that covers the front of them.

 

“Pretty boxers,” he murmurs as he pulls the band back and looks inside. Harrys dick is mostly soft but completely covered in come. “Forgot how wet you get,” he mutters to himself before he begins wiping the boys dick down.

 

“I have, um,” the boy pauses, biting his lip, “panties, too.”

 

Louis falters in his movements, eyes glancing up to Harry’s. “What?” He asks breathlessly.

 

“I don't wear them to school because, yaknow,” Harry bites his lip, “but yeah.”

 

Louis’ mouth goes dry, trying to figure out what to say in response to that. Turns out he doesn't have to, because the bell signalling lunch is over begins to ring, scaring both of them.

 

“Fuck,” Louis mutters stepping out from between Harrys legs.

 

Harry hops off the countertop and does his jeans up, cringing slightly. “I have to wear wet underwear and smell like come the rest of the day because of you.”

 

Louis laughs lightheartedly, stepping closer to the boy and putting his hands on the boy's hips. “How a-”

 

The door makes a loud noise, like someone's trying to come inside, and it startles Louis from Harry. They both look at each other with nervous expressions as the same rattle comes through again and a faint voice is heard from the other side.

 

Louis clears his throat and tilts his head toward the door. Harrys smile is small and he nods, looking away.

 

Quickly, he unlocks the door and steps out. The person trying to get in must have left, because there is no one waiting at the door amongst the busy hallway.

 

Louis sighs, and makes his way to his locker whilst trying to cover the boner that's obviously tucked away in his pants. He gets a few stray looks every once in awhile, but he chooses to ignore them. He sees Zayn next to his locker, waiting, and he smiles.

 

Zayn absolutely loses it in a fit of laughter.

 

“What?” Louis asks, smirking to himself as spins the locker combination.

 

“You're fucking hair, mate!”

 

Louis blushes, going rigid, before he hits his head against his locker and groans.

 

Zayn snickers again, running his hand through Louis’ hair to fix it up some. “I see someone was busy.”

 

“Fuck off,” Louis groans with a laugh.

 

“Good for you, bro. Where's Harry? Does he look as obvious as you? God, this is hilarious.”

 

Louis laughs breathlessly, shaking his head. He finally pulls back from his locker with his red face and opens his locker, pulling his bag out. Just as he turns around he catches glimpse of Harry.

 

Harry who looks like an angel, who bites his puffy lip and looks down when their eyes meet.

 

Louis frowns, looking to Zayn who's holding in his laughter.

 

“Oh, fuck off and go to class!”  Louis groans, thumping Zayns head as he lets his laughter burst out.

 

“I'm going! I'm going!” He says through laughter.

 

Louis rolls his eyes, watching Zayn go. Then he focuses back on Harry who is at his locker, fumbling with books.

 

Taking a deep breath, he makes his way over to Harry and leans against the lockers beside his. Harry looks up startled, eyes widening when he sees Louis, then a soft - almost reassuring - smile lifts his lips.

 

“Hi,” he says.

 

Louis grins, looking away from Harry and noticing that a few of the people left in the halls are staring. He looks back.

 

“Hey.”

 

Harrys eyebrows furrow, smiling but confused. Louis rolls his eyes.

 

“How do you feel about ditching the rest of the day?”

 

“Oh, I-” Harry blinks rapidly, “really?”

 

Louis bites his lip, nods.

 

“Okay,” Harry replies breathlessly.

 

Louis leads the boy out to his truck, covering his now semi with a book, ignoring any and all stares they get. He takes Harrys bag and puts it in the back of his truck, before opening the truck door for Harry to slide into the cab.

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

 

Louis makes his way around the front to the driver's side and hops in, immediately starting the engine.  

 

“So, did you want me to like, finish you off too?” Harry asks, all weird out out of character. Louis gives him a look, his eyebrows lined and lips quirked.

 

“That wasn't the plan, no.” Louis says carefully.

 

“Oh, um. What are we doing then?”

 

Louis fumbles with his seatbelt, choosing to ignore Harrys sudden strangeness. “What did you eat for lunch?”

 

Harry bites his lip. “I had some crackers Niall gave me before lunch. I was going to my locker to get my lunch actually when those guys decided they wanted to bother me.”

 

“I'm sorry they did,” he murmurs, putting a hand on Harrys knee, “and because we both missed lunch I'll take you out. My treat.”

 

“Oh, um, thank you.” Harrys says, playing with his fingers.

 

Louis furrows his eyebrows as he pulls out of the school parking lot. “Why so shy all of a sudden?”

 

Harry takes a deep breath. “To be honest,” he starts quietly, “I thought this time was going to be the same as last time.”

 

“What?” Louis asks, confused.

 

“I thought that you were just going to leave after the bathroom, and go on like it didn't happen.”

 

Louis’ fingers turn white from how he's gripping the steering wheel, a plum sized ball of hurt lodging in his throat. “Harry,” he says, “I told you I wasn't going to do that to you again, and I meant it.”

 

Harry swallows. “I believe you.”

 

Louis flips his blinker and takes a left. “I'm going to prove it to you, yaknow?” he makes a quick glance to Harry before taking the final turn into the A&W, “I'm gonna prove that I'm in love with you and that I want you and tha-”

 

Harry breaks out into the most joyous giggle, hand coming up to cover Louis’ mouth whilst Louis pulls into a parking spot. Louis laughs himself, looking at Harry and seeing the glint in his eye, his big smile. Louis laughs a little more breathlessly and puts the truck in park. He wants nothing more than to pin Harrys hands down and pepper that pretty face of his in kisses.

 

(He can't, he knows. They'd more than likely be seen by someone.)

 

Unabashedly, he stares. He stares with a content smile and fond eyes and memorises Harry’s cute expression.

 

“Ready for the most romantic date you'll ever go on?”

 

Harrys eyes gleam brighter if even possible, his eyebrows raising. “Oh,” he giggles, “you going to proper wine and dine me, then?”

 

“Of course, darling,” Louis teases, “shake and fries are the way to the heart.”

 

Harry laughs so hard Louis can't help but join in, meeting Harry's eyes and feeling his heart patter in his chest. Their laughter eventually trails off and it's just the two of them looking at each other, wide grins on their faces.

Until Louis breaks it with a breathless chuckle. He opens his truck door. “Guess we should get to it, eh?” he says softly, motioning his head in the direction of the door. Harry nods enthusiastically.

 

Louis hops out of his truck, only to find Harry sliding over the middle seat and out his door as well with a cute smile.

 

He stumbles a bit getting his feet on the ground from the truck, and Louis settles a hand on his hip to steady him. “Oops.”

 

“Hi,” he murmurs back fondly.

 

Harry giggles and steps away, letting Louis close his truck door.

 

“Ready?” Louis asks.

 

Harry nods in response, shy grin plastered on his face. Louis holds the door to the small restaurant open for Harry when they get to it, and Harrys grin only gets bigger.

 

“Order whatever you like,” Louis mumbles quietly, momentarily placing a hand on the small of Harrys back.

 

A girl pops up to the counter, smiling. She asks what they want and they order together, Louis paying for the both of them.

 

Their milkshakes are handed to them right away, a banana flavour for Harry, a vanilla for Louis, and they make their way to a booth in the corner.

 

They sit across from each other, beaming.

 

_God._

 

Louis balls up the paper from his straw, and Harry makes a football goal with his hand.

 

Louis laughs, flicking the paper ball between the boys two fingers.

 

“Touchdown!” Harry says enthusiastically, “the crowd goes wild!”

 

Louis grins and shakes his head, hooking his ankles around Harrys. “I think you'd make a better cheerleader than an announcer.”

 

Harry raises his eyebrows. “I think you just want to see me in a skirt.”

 

“Always,” Louis sighs, grinning, “why do jeans even exist? Wish you'd wear a skirt every day of the week.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis spots the cashier and the manager giving the two of them an odd look. Louis fights his immediate urges to either pull away or give them a glare.

 

“I would for you, Louis Tomlinson.”

 

The way Harry says his whole name is probably the sweetest thing he's ever heard, and it draws his attention away from the two sets of eyes. He smiles, no, he _grins_ , and meets Harry's eyes. Harry who's just got done sipping his milkshake and is peering up at him bashfully and a little smug, like he _knows_  what he does to Louis.

 

“Lemme try that,” Louis finally says, sliding his hand across the table and wrapping it around Harrys cup. He pulls it to himself and wraps his lips around the straw, sending Harry a dramatic wink.

 

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “Didn't even ask first,” he mumbles fondly.

 

“Sharing is caring, Harold,” he pushes his vanilla milkshake toward Harry as he takes one last sip of the banana.

 

Harry takes the straw between his fingertips and moves it around inside the cup before leaning down and taking a sip, and Louis thinks about how he wants to learn all the little habits and ways Harry does things - wants to learn how he eats fries, and how he trims his fingernails, and how he takes his shoes off when he gets home.

 

“I prefer my banana,” Harry says finally with a tiny smile, switching their drinks backs. It's then that the manager brings their baskets of food out, a smile on his face. Louis smiles back, a little self-consciously. He takes a deep breath and rubs his ankle against Harry’s, keeping their feet entangled.

 

“Tomlinson!” the manager beams, setting their baskets down, “how are ya?”

 

Louis smiles. “I'm very good, sir,” he replies. He's used to this, people talking to him like they know him. It's a small town, honestly more like a village of a town, and he's the quarterback of the football team, people just know who he is.

 

“Ya got that championship next week, don't ya? Nervous for that?”

 

“Yup, next Friday up north. Nervous as can be.”

 

The manager scoffs. “No need for nerves, with the way you play I’m sure you'll win.”

 

Louis smiles. “Well, being cocky won't get the game won.”

 

The manager pats Louis on the back and looks to Harry, rolling his eyes in a ‘ _can you believe this?_ ’ kind of way.

 

“Who's this you've got here with ya, then?”

 

Louis knows, just _knows,_ this is what the man really wanted to ask in the first place.

 

“This is the wonderful Harry,” he introduces, and Harry gives the man a nod and a smile.

 

“Nice to meet ya, son,” he says, giving Harry a long look, “you two seem awfully close.”

 

Louis makes a point to reach out and grab both of Harrys hands, wanting to show that he's comfortable and not scared, that there's no _reason_  to be uncomfortable and scared, even if it's not completely true.

 

“Well, sir,” he says, “you know what they say, bro's before hoes.”

 

Harry barks out a loud laugh, quickly retracting his hands to cover his mouth as he giggles into his hands.

 

The manager seems to accept the answer, laughing along and clapping Louis on the back. “You're funny, kid. Have a good day you two,” he says with a grin.

 

Louis smiles up at the man and watches him walk back behind the counter, and then he reverts his attention back to Harry who's still letting out little giggles and looking to Louis with shining eyes.

 

Louis’ more than smug over how much Harrys laughing, picking up one of his fries and popping it in his mouth.

 

He meets Harry's eyes again and raises an eyebrow. “Are you quite done yet?”

 

Harry kicks him beneath the table. “Bro's before hoes,” he laughs, shaking his head, “you're the best bro I've ever had.”

 

Louis starts to laugh too now, shaking his head. “Thanks _bro_.”

  


_______________________________________

  


They eat their lunch between eye spy games and French fry tosses. Harry's eyes sparkle with laughter and Louis just can't take his eyes off of him. He's just so captivating, the way his nose scrunches up when he laughs too hard and the furrow between his eyebrows when he's thinking. His eyes actually start shining when he's being playful and teasing, and Louis just - he can't believe it.  
  
Harry is complete and utter magic.   
  
Once their milkshakes are making slurping noises and near empty, Louis looks at Harry and decides he wants to take him home.   
  
"Do you wanna come meet my mom?" he blurts out, so sudden.   
  
Harry's grin grows across his face so genuinely and when he murmurs, "Of course," it's the most heartwarming thing he's heard.   
  
"Okay, cool," Louis says through a grin. He dumps their trash in a garbage can for them and resists the urge to tangle his fingers with Harrys.   
  
Harry crawls into Louis' truck from Louis' side, any excuse to be closer, and Louis pinches Harrys bum when he feels it's safe enough, earning a squealing sound from the boy.   
  
"Sorry, but when a cute bums in front of me like that I gotta," Louis teases, buckling himself up and starting the truck.   
  
"You _gotta_?" Harry teases.   
  
"I _gotta_ ," Louis agrees, glancing to Harry to make sure he's buckled up before pulling out of the parking lot.   
  
Harry giggles a bit, pushing a piece of his hair behind his ear. "So," he finally says, "what’s your mom like?"   
  
"Honestly, she's my best friend. She's just always so supportive and loving, and strong, it's hard to imagine a life without her."   
  
"Lou," Harry murmurs, adored, "that's so sweet."   
  
Louis blushes a bit, shrugging. He can see Harrys fond smile from the corner of his eye; can sense the boy's soft eyes watching him. It makes him feel so warm inside.   
  
Just a couple minutes later they pull into Louis' driveway. Louis turns the ignition off and unbuckles, turning to look at Harry.   
  
"How long until you need to be home?"   
  
Harry rolls his lips. "School gets out in an hour, and my mom would be okay with me being out until about 6:00, maybe? So we can hang out for a few hours."   
  
Louis bites his lip and nods. "Okay, cool."   
  
Harry smiles and then opens his door, hopping out of the truck. With a deep breath, Louis does the same.   
  
"Here, I'll get your bag. It'll probably start pouring pretty soon," Louis says as he reaches in the back of his truck and grabs both of their bags. Harry grins and let's their fingers skim when he takes it from Louis.   
  
"Now's the best time to meet her because all the little monsters are at school."   
  
Harry laughs lightly, following Louis up to the door. Louis unlocks the door and opens it, announcing that he's home.   
  
"What are you doing home so e-" his mom starts to say, walking out from the kitchen with a furrow between her brows. That is, until she sees Harry.   
  
"Mom, this is Harry. We left early because afternoon classes are all study periods for the big test coming up."   
  
"Liar," she says with an eye roll, making Harry laugh, "it's nice to meet you though, hun. You look so familiar."   
  
Harrys cheeks dimple. "I work at the farmers market."   
  
Jay grins. "Thats where I've seen you before then. It's nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Jay."   
  
She shakes Harrys hand and then pulls him into a hug.   
  
"Nice too meet you too," Harry murmurs, a bit shy.   
  
"So, are you Louis' boyfriend?” She asks with a wink.

  
Louis flushes red. " _Mom_ ," he whines, taking a laughing Harrys wrist and dragging him toward the stairs, "we are not doing this."   
  
"Bedroom door open, Louis!" She calls after them, making Harry giggle.   
  
"You and your mom are so alike," Harry says through a smile.   
  
"Embarrassing?" Louis asks, inviting Harry into his room.   
  
"No, welcoming." Harry corrects. He sets his bag on the ground and then stretches his arms above his head. "Your room is so boy, just like Niall's, yaknow that? I like yours more though. It smells just like you."   
  
Louis chuckles, heart thumping in his chest at how much he loves this, Harry filling up his bedroom walls with his words.   
  
"Your bed also looks very comfortable," Harry sends him a playful wink.   
  
"Oh, it is." Louis agrees, leaning against his desk.   
  
Harry grins, looking over all the achievements on Louis' wall before looking back to Louis. "Would it be weird to ask for a change of pants?"   
  
Louis snorts, shaking his head. "Shit, you're-" He laughs and opens his dresser drawer, "I'm so sorry, I should've offered."   
  
Harry blushes. "It's okay, not sorry one bit about it, so."   
  
Louis chooses not to say anything in return, just smiles and pulls out a pair of pants for Harry to pull on.   
  
"Here you go, want some sweats too?"   
  
Harry rolls his lips in thought whilst undoing his belt. Louis closes his bedroom door to just a crack for more privacy, though he knows his mom will leave them be.   
  
"I think I'm good with just pants, thanks though."   
  
Louis turns away and digs out sweats for himself whilst Harry is taking off his little pink, come stained pants. After he pulls them on, he turns back around to see Harry shoving his come stained pink pants into his bag, and kicking his jeans to the side of the room.   
  
Louis laughs watching the boy flop down on his bed, only in some short white pants and a peach coloured sweater.   
  
"Your bed is perfect," Harry moans, turning his head into one of Louis' pillows and breathing in his lovely smell. After he does that he kicks back the blankets and crawls beneath them, just like a little kid.   
  
Then Harry looks up to him with his pretty eyes, holding the covers opens. "Come cuddle?"   
  
Louis grins, crawling under the covers with Harry until they're chest to chest and both going cross eyed.   
  
"Hi," Louis whispers with a smile.   
  
"Hi," Harry whispers back, "I'm little spoon, okay?"   
  
"What?" Louis exclaims, "big giant Harry is a _little_  spoon? What is this? You've got arms that could wrap around ten people but you're a _little_  spoon?" Louis huffs, teasingly of course. "I would have never guessed such a thing!"   
  
"Shh!" Harry giggles, "it's my biggest secret! You can't let anyone know!"   
  
Louis raises his eyebrows, before going in for the kill and tickling Harrys sides. "Oh I'm going to let everyone know, alright. The yeti is in fact a little baby, likes to be coddled, demands to be little spoon!"   
  
Harry kicks his legs out, his head thrown back as he chokes on laughter. "Lou! Pl-please!" he cackles, "stop, pl-" Louis tickles up under his armpits  and the boy all but thrashes with laughs.   
  
He tickles the boy a few seconds longer, basking in how pretty the boy looks when he laughs, before flopping over and quickly wrapping his arms around Harry, initiating his big spoon position.   
  
"Is this good enough for you, big guy?"   
  
Harry dips his chin into his shoulder, cheeks red with mirth as he finishes his giggles. "It might be," he drawls out, a slight giggle in his tone, looking up through his eyelashes with a fake pout and a teasing shine in his eyes.   
  
"Oh, it might be?" Louis asks with a raise of his eyebrows, "it _might_  be? Someone's a little high maintenance, huh? What else do you need? Lots of love and affection?"   
  
Harry juts out his lower lip and nods.   
  
"You're asking so much of me, little stud," Louis shakes his head.   
  
Despite the teasing, Louis' smiling like an idiot and tangling a hand in Harrys long hair. He scratches softly at the boy's scalp, before leaning in and placing soft kisses all over the boys face.   
  
His mind is racing, thinking of all the daydreams he's had of doing just this. Daydreams of simply holding Harry and kissing him, playing with the boy's hair and watching his eyelashes flutter. He's beautiful and Louis feels like he could do this, like he could love Harry and let Harry love him back, even if it would only ever be in private.   
  
Harry giggles, burying his face in the crook of Louis' neck. "Let's listen to music."   
  
Louis doesn't think twice before reaching over and grabbing his phone from his desktop.   
  
"What do you wanna hear?"   
  
Harry blinks, biting his lip. "Make a playlist of songs that make you think of me."   
  
Louis laughs. "Egotistical much?"   
  
"Hush," Harry giggles.   
  
Louis rolls his eyes, but starts going through his music and doing it anyway. By the end of it he's full out blushing, and Harry asking him to put it on shuffle and play it makes him want to throw his phone out the window.   
  
He plays it.   
  
"What's this first song?" He asks before it's even started, and Louis smiles fondly.   
  
"It's Angel by Jack Johnson."   
  
"Okay," Harry murmurs. He sinks down so he can place his head on Louis' chest, and Louis continues playing with his hair.     
  
By the time the song ends, Louis' sure Harry can hear his heartbeat erratically racing. Something about the way the boy squeezes his side makes him feel like he doesn't have to mind.   
  
  


_______________________________________

  
  
They lay in bed for a good hour, just talking and listening to the playlist. Harry makes no comment on the songs, but Louis will watch him smile after catching a certain line of lyrics and it's beautiful.   
  
They decide to head out before Louis' siblings all get home, because right now they have no good label for what they are and he can't bear the thought of referring to Harry as only a friend.   
  
When they announce they're leaving, Harry giving Jay a hug, she smirks and says, "It was nice meeting you, little spoon."   
  
Louis chokes on his laughter.   
  


_______________________________________

 

  
The rain clouds loom heavy and dark, and raindrops pour down. Neither of them mind though because it means Harry can slide into the middle of the seat and press himself up against Louis, outside world dreary and distracted.   
  
"Don't take me home just yet," Harry murmurs softly, carefully putting his hand on the inside of Louis' thigh.   
  
"Okay," Louis says back, body feeling electric.   
  
He drives to the abandoned outside theatre on the very outer edges of their village, now shrouded in weeds and plant growth. He drives out behind the building so they've privacy.   
  
Louis cuts the engine and flips the beams off. He also makes sure the doors are locked out of habit.   
  
Harry immediately unbuckles, and then he unbuckles Louis too and Louis smiles at him.   
  
"What're you doing?" he teases lightly.   
  
Harry smiles softly, scooting himself down a bit on the row of seats and laying back so his head is in Louis' lap. He has to have his knees bent to fit right, but he doesn't mind one bit.   
  
Louis chuckles, tangling his fingers in Harry's hair and letting them get lost in it. Harry closes his eyes at the sensation, and they both sit in the quiet, listening to the rain pour down on the truck.   
  
It shouldn't feel so nice, really. It shouldn't feel so comfortable and like everything Louis' ever wanted.   
  
But it does, god knows it does.   
  
It's so easy to fall into it all. So easy to let his thoughts roam free, along with his feelings. He sits, hands in Harry's hair, and feels so much love in his heart for the boy that it fucking _hurts._   
  
Louis carefully starts tracing over Harry's face with his thumb; stroking over the slope of his nose and the dips of his eyelids; feeling the smoothness of his cheeks, and the lush of his lips; he could spend all afternoon counting his eyelashes, or the gold flecks in his eyes when they blink open.   
  
And that's scary because Louis' never felt like this before, never loved something so much that he wanted to learn every small, subtle piece.   
  
It's even more scary when Harry finally blinks his eyes open again and Louis can see so clearly that Harry feels the same way.   
  
"Hi," Harry murmurs.   
  
Louis smiles fondly. "You're very pretty."   
  
Harry blushes, pretty and deep. "Thank you for standing up for me today," he says, so shy and so genuine.   
  
Louis furrows his eyebrows. "I - I wish I could have sooner. Like when they were just taunting. Today may have never happened then."   
  
"Don't do that to yourself, Lou. I understand that you were scared and I don't blame you. It's hard."   
  
Louis closes his head and nods. "It's really hard."   
  
He feels a hand take his own, fingers slotting together. "Its getting easier though, right?"   
  
Louis thinks of the call with the counsellor he's been speaking to that happened just the other night. He smiles. "Yeah, it is."   
  
Harry kisses over their clasped hands, before settling them on his chest.   
  


_______________________________________

 

  
When Louis finally takes Harry home, he does so with the boy pressed to his side and holding his hand.   
  
And before Harry gets out of the truck he makes sure to kiss Louis' cheek, murmuring a soft "text me when you get home" before disappearing into his home and out of the heavy rain.   
  


_______________________________________

 

**Wednesday 6:24 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

Home

 

**Wednesday 6:38 p.m.**

**[received]**

 

Okay. And Louis, please don't let today mess up anything. You can take as much time as you need. Don't feel pressured by what happened please. xx

  


**Wednesday 6:45 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

Not pressured.

  
  


_______________________________________

  
  


The football championship takes place over Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. They leave Wednesday though because it takes four and half hours just to get to the field the championship is taking place at.

 

Louis’ in one of the front seats of the bus, Zayn the seat behind him. They've always sat up front, for as long as Louis can remember, so Zayn wouldn't get agitated by all the noise the other boys made. Louis likes it better up front anyhow, because once the boys start talking his skin starts to itch with the words they use, the way they talk about people.

 

He has his headphones in in case they start getting that way, instrumentals blasting. He has his legs strewn across the bus seat, knees bent, leaning against the uncomfortable aft. He looks over it to see Zayn asleep in his seat, legs completely straightened out and hooking on the seats across the aisle, using his hoodie as a pillow.

 

He takes a picture and sends it to Zayns mom, and his own mom, and then to Harry just because he wants to reach out in some way and contact him.

 

He doesn't expect to get a reply from Harry though, no. Because Harrys insistent on Louis figuring his head out and they both know constant texting would interfere with that.

 

But Harry does reply.

  


**Wednesday 12:38 p.m.**

**[received]**

 

bet you're too short to do the same :-P

  


Louis’ mouth drops open, turning into the biggest smile possible. Harrys such a tease, his heart fucking flutters.

  


**Wednesday 12:41 p.m.**

**[sent]**

 

says the 10 foot tall liTTLE spoon

  
  


**Wednesday 12:43 p.m.**

**[received]**

 

:-) ❤️

  
  


_______________________________________

  
  


This is the first time the championship has taken place in a city. Not just the little city an hour away from where they live either, that's really actually only 25k people and more of a big town. No, it's in an actual _city_ , with the tall buildings and people walking and biking around and actual _traffic_.

 

Louis’ never been to a real city before.

 

Which, it sounds ridiculous. Mostly because he probably has been to a city like this before when he was little. But soon his household was filled to the brim with little sisters (and one little brother) and they couldn't just pack them all in a car and decide to drive however many hours away, no.

 

So this is his first city (that he can remember) and he's sort of amazed by it.

 

Right now, he’s walking around alone. The first football game is tomorrow, and he felt too fidgety to sit in the hotel room or hang around the other guys. He invited Zayn of course, but Zayn was restless from the bus ride and being around the boys’ all day that he chose to have some alone time.

 

He’s not really alone, though. No, there are people still out and about, coming in and out of little stores and pubs, jogging, shopping. Louis finds it a bit insane.

 

Insane because it's nighttime but it’s not dark out; insane because he can’t see the stars but he feels them; insane because every single person he sees seems to have their own originality to them. He feels welcomed.

 

(There are rainbow flags and signs on many of the restaurants and stores - in their doorways, their windows. He passes a small candy shop with a little rainbow flag printed on paper, below it reading ‘ _all are welcome._ ’

 

Louis blooms with something he’s never quite fully felt before with himself. Something like safety, like acceptance. He feels like he can find places in the world where he’s accepted the way he is. He’s not always alone or trapped in the way he feels he is.

 

It’s comforting, _reassuring_.

 

He snaps a picture of the sign and sends it to Harry.)

  
  


_______________________________________

 

They win their first game and lose the last two, receiving third place for their district. Louis’ over the moon despite it, not letting any of the loses get him down.

 

Mostly because it's been a good three days, great even. He even was happy to hang out with the other guys out in the city exploring.

 

(None of them made any homophobic slurs, or had a disgusted look. Not even when two men walked by holding hands. It was shocking for Louis, made him wonder what his teammates were thinking, wondered if they felt outnumbered by the diversity. He liked the idea of that.)

 

Him and Harry texted a bit too, and though it wasn't a lot, it was enough to make him feel amazing, lively, _God_ , it made him feel everything. Even Zayn's eye rolls that came every time he jumped to answer his phone couldn't break his smile.

  


_______________________________________

  


Louis takes Monday off to rest up from all the excitement and football of the weekend. He's home alone with his baby bro for most of the day, his mum having went grocery shopping in the nearby small city. So he spends the day in sweats, drifting in and out of sleep, changing a diaper here and there and being a good big bro.  
  
Harry texts him, too. He asks why he isn't at school, and if Louis has butterflies all day because of it then who cares.   
  
As soon as school gets out he goes and picks Harry up, a bag of chips and two sodas his bargain. A few people stare with furrowed eyebrows, but Louis is too distracted by how pretty Harry looks to mind.   
  
Because Harry is beaming, just absolutely gorgeous, and he compliments Louis on his sleep hair, and Louis finds it unbelievable that he's real.   
  
He asks if Harry has anywhere to be, and Harry says no. So Louis drives them to the edge of town and pulls off into the area of the abandoned outdoor theatre again. They lounge back in the cab of the truck, Louis’ arm over Harrys shoulder and one of Harrys thighs resting over Louis'. Louis rambles on and on about the city and football, and Harry listens and laughs and stays curled into Louis' side.   
  
Once the bag of chips are gone Louis takes Harry home. (Harry kisses his cheek and it's sort of a big deal.)   
  


  
_______________________________________

  
  
Tuesday is the last football spirit day of the year, but all Louis does is spend the day trying to work the courage up to offer Harry his jersey.   
  
It's just rather claiming, though. And as far as Louis knows no one on the team gives their practise jerseys to a ‘bro.’   
  
But Harrys also in a goddamn skirt again, and his hair is up in those little space bun things, matching the cheerleaders; there's glitter down the middle of his root line where the hair splits in half and Louis just? How can he not give the pretty thing his jersey? Especially when all the other cheerleaders have one?   
  
Louis' leaning against the lockers with some random football mates. Spirit day means they get the last two periods free to talk, eat cake and pizza, and drink lots of soda. So that's what he is doing, eating a piece of cake and watching Harry laugh with the girls and Niall.   
  
He's content with just watching too, that is until he hears some of his football mates snickering about Harry, and then he gets irritable.   
  
He hears 'harry' and 'come on' come out of James, Liam, or Josh's mouth, before the group of them start working toward Harry down the hallway.   
  
"Hey, throw this away for me, yeah?" Louis says to one of the guys, handing his plate to him.   
  
"Hey Styles, no one wants t-"   
  
Louis manages to slip past the group, making it to Harry before the other boys. Harrys already turning around to see where Liam and them are, and when he sees Louis instead he smiles, unexpected.   
  
“Tomlinson, getting up in this too, eh? Gonna give this fag what he deserves?”   
  
Louis ignores it, biting his lip. The moment Harry frowns is the moment he takes his jersey off, his black under armour long sleeve clinging to his torso and arms.   
  
“All the other cheerleaders have a jersey but you, so - so I thought I'd give you mine?” Louis says, trying to sound at ease, but truthfully, he's deathly nervous. Because this has to be the boldest thing he's done, and 3 homophobic assholes are standing right behind him.   
  
Harry is completely shocked, cheeks heating up and eyes widening. The dicks to the side of him are confused too, their eyebrows furrowing.   
  
But then Harrys breaking out in this shy smile and pink blush, the most beautiful thing Louis' seen. “Thank you, Louis," he murmurs, biting into his bottom lip.   
  
Louis shrugs shyly, trying to hold his smile  in.   
  
“Is this a joke?” Liam asks, laughing confusedly.   
  
Louis turns around. "What?"   
  
“What the fuck is all this, mate?" Josh asks.   
  
Louis turns all the way around, standing in front of Harry with his arms crossed. "I'm giving him my jersey?"   
  
“Bro, isn't that a bit gay? I mean how do you even know this fag?"   
  
Louis settles on a confused face, to hopefully make them all feel like they're looking way too far into things. “It's spirit day, mates. Get over yourselves, Harrys just havin' some fun with it.”   
  
"Yeah, bu-"   
  
Louis turns around, making it clear he's not going to be listening. His hands are shaking and his heart is racing, but Harrys got such a pretty shine in his eyes. "Will it fit then?" he asks softly, with a smile.   
  
"I-I don't know, can't strip right here, can I?" Harry teases, though anxiety is present in his tone. Louis' glad he's not the only one.   
  
"C'mon, 'en. Gotta make sure you look alright in it if I'm gonna let you sponsor me, bro."   
  
Harry chokes on a laugh, looking down to hide his smile and pink cheeks. Louis bumps his shoulder and starts walking toward the bathroom, turning around and shooting a glare at Liam and the others.   
  
Louis ignores the people sending him questioning looks as he and Harry turn from the main hall and to the bathroom hall. Before he can enter the main men's restroom, Harry grabs his wrist and pulls him into the single for teachers.   
  
Harry locks the door quickly and Louis presses Harry to it. "Im sorry the treat you like that," Louis murmurs softly into Harrys shoulder.   
  
Harry turns around and wraps his arms around Louis, holding him tight. "Thank you so much," he whispers, "you have no idea how much this means to me."   
  
Louis pulls back and kisses Harry, hard and full and concrete. He kisses him with the hope that Harry can feel everything he wishes he could express. And Harry falls pliant to it all, he always does, let's out a soft noise that spreads through Louis' body in waves of warmth.   
  
Louis moves his lips slowly, letting his eyes open up. He glances over Harry's face as their lips move together, feels his heart leap at how beautiful Harry is, eyelashes flared and breaths ghosting over their skin.   
  
Louis carefully pecks Harrys lips, 1, 2, 3 times, and then he pulls away. He smiles, running his thumb over Harrys bottom lip.   
  
"You look amazing in this skirt," he says to soften the mood, "and your hair is beautiful like this, look at these little buns, they're so cute!"   
  
Harry giggles when Louis flicks one of the little buns. Louis smiles, leaning in again and kissing Harry on the lips, so softly.   
  
"C'mon, let's see you in this, yeah?" Louis pokes at the jersey in Harry's hands before backing away and crossing his arms over his chest.   
  
Careful not to mess up his hair, Harry pulls the jersey over his head and tugs it down. It's tighter on his shoulders but hangs down his lanky form. He tucks the edges into his skirt, and then looks up at Louis, folding his hands behind his back and smiling bashfully.   
  
"I'm secretly so happy seeing you in that, fuck," Louis grins, "I have to get a photo, can I?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.   
  
Harry blushes but nods nonetheless, grinning like an idiot with his dimples on full display. Louis bites his lip as he takes the photo, hands shaking lightly.   
  
"Can I get the back too, or is that weird to ask?" Louis asks, chuckling nervously.   
  
Harry laughs but turns around, sending Louis a little wink and letting him capture the "TOMLINSON" across his back.   
  
"You're beautiful," he says, "fuck."   
  
"Wait!" Harry says before Louis puts his phone away, "we should take one, like, together?" he blushes at the words, as if he doesn't know if that's okay or not.   
  
"Of course, babe. C'mere," Louis says. He jumps up so he's sitting on the sink counter, laughing at Harrys confused expression, "between the legs, yup, good boy," Louis teases, directing Harry to stand between his spread legs, "see? Now it doesn't look like you're ten feet taller than me!" he exclaims, handing his phone to Harry and draping his arms around Harrys neck.   
  
Then Louis' phone is filled with selfies with Harry. Goofy faces, tongues out, cheek kisses and kiss kisses.   
  
And then they decide to just sit in the bathroom until after the final bell rings. They play stupid apps, and hold hands, and do some light kissing.   
  
(Harry stares at Louis' chest a little too much, defined by the tight black fabric, and Louis stares at Harrys thighs a bit too much, soft and milky and beautiful.)   
  
And after final bell rings they casually step into the hallway and walk to their lockers. Only a few kids are left, lounging around the halls and giving a few curious glances. None of them say anything though, so Louis relaxes.   
  
After Louis gets his backpack he meets Harry at his locker, bumps his shoulder with a little smirk, and Harry lets out this adorably uncontrollable giggle, cheeks flushing with embarrassment and joy at his own silliness. Louis likes that, that somehow he can me the boy feel so giddy that e can't even control it.   
  
"Silly lad," Louis teases fondly, resisting the urge to do something like lean up and kiss Harrys pretty lips, "ready to go?"   
  
"Go where?" Harry asks with a smile and creased eyebrows.   
  
"Why Harold, darling. Do you think I'd let you walk home in such an outfit? It's simply not safe!" Louis exaggerates, leading a giggling Harry out of the halls.   
  
Louis takes Harry home, holding his hand over the middle seat and smiling like an idiot. When he pulls up to Harrys house, Harry fidgets.   
  
"Thank you for today," he murmurs.   
  
Louis just smiles, squeezing his hand.   
  
Harry reaches to unlock the truck door before freezing, "Oh! Your jersey!"   
  
“You can keep it, last year and I've got two," he shrugs, “plus it looks much better on you.”   
  
Harry bites his lip, staring at Louis with an intense look. “Thank you, I um- “ he blushes, “just- thank you so much. For everything."   
  
Louis puts a hand on his knee and squeezes it, making Harry look up, smiling with these blown eyes.   
  
“I better get going then," he says.   
  
Louis smiles, “I guess so.”   
  
Harry bites his lip again, before taking a deep breath and scooting closer to Louis, wrapping his arms around his neck and hugging him tight. "Thank you," he whispers yet again, leaning back and kissing the corner of Louis’ lips, softly, “so so much.”   
  
Louis' heart races in his chest, a deep heat traveling down his spine as Harry gets out and walks towards his door, turning back to wave at Louis.   
  
"Text me when you get home!" he yells out, and Louis finally finds it in him to shake his daze, smiling.   
  
"Always do!"   


  


  
_______________________________________   
  
  


 

 **Tuesday 6:15 p.m.  
[received]**   
  
bro whered go the last bit of school?   
  
  
**Tuesday 6:15 p.m.  
[sent]**   
  
n the bathroom with harry. we took selfies  wanna see   
  
**  
Tuesday 6:16 p.m.  
[received]**   
  
yea bro   
  
  
Louis sends him the picture where Harrys head is turned in towards his own, his eyes closed, cheeks pink, and one dimple on proud display. His forehead is pressed into Louis' cheek, and Louis' head is slightly tilted down, fondly smiling at the boy. It's the most intimate looking of all the photos and he wants to show it to the world.   
  
**Tuesday 6:20 p.m.  
[received]**   
  
u guys r so cute 2gether it's gross as shit   
  
  
**Tuesday 6:20 p.m.  
[received]**   
  
btw I sent it 2 ur mom lol ur welcome   
  
Right on cue he hears his mom calling his name and running up the stairs. Louis' cheeks are an embarrassing shade of red and he closes his eyes and waits for his mom to bust through the door.     
  
"Louis William Tomlinson!" she exclaims, opening the door, "you lied to me!"   
  
"What?" he asks, actually confused.   
  
"You said this boy was just a friend!" She holds her phone out, showing him the text from Zayn.   
  
"Mom-"   
  
" _Honey_ ," she says sadly, "I told you it was okay that you like boys. I don't understand why you lied to me about this."   
  
"We're not dating, mom," he says, awkwardly rubbing his neck.   
  
"Who's not dating?" Lottie says, poking her head inside the door.   
  
"Lottie, not now," Jay and Louis day at the same time.   
  
Lottie leaves and Louis looks at his mom who raises an eyebrow.   
  
"You're not dating?"   


Louis closes his eyes. "Not it's - it's complicated?"  
  
Jay sighs, turning around and closing the door. She walks over and sits on the edge of Louis' bed, directly across from Louis who is in his computer chair.   
  
"Explain."   
  
Louis huffs a laugh, knowing his mom would be this way.   
  
"He said we shouldn't date until I figure some things out for myself first."   
  
"What things?"   
  
"Being okay with being gay and stuff."   
  
"Louis," she murmurs, "you do know it's okay, right? Please tell me you know that."   
  
Louis smiles, kicking at his mom's leg lightly. "I know, mom. It was just scary. I'm - I'm in love with him, yaknow?" He looks at the ground, blushing.   
  
Jay smiles so big, so fondly. "Have you told him this yet, then? That you're okay with it?"   
  
Louis swallows, blinks. There's obviously a lot his mom doesn't know, but that doesn't stop Louis from realising that he - he could definitely love Harry. He already does, of course, but he can show Harry that, and he can do it without any fear, hell, he already has been doing that as of late it seems.   
  
Jay pats Louis' knee. "You should tell him," she says, standing up, "that way I can have more cute pictures like this."   
  
Louis laughs, shaking his head.   


 

  
_______________________________________

 

  
Later that night when Louis is studying for testing, he gets a text from Harry and his heart leaps.

  
  
**Tuesday 9:34 p.m.  
[received]**   
  
your shirt smells like you and I never want to take it off.   
  
also I hope it's not too weird to say but you looked so hot in that black under shirt I had to jerk off as soon as I got home  xxx   
  
  
**Tuesday 9:35 p.m.  
[sent]**   
  
not if getting off to thoughts of you in a skirt aren't weird ;-)   


  


_______________________________________

  


  
Wednesday and Thursday are testing days, and Louis doesn't get to spend any time with Harry on either day. They do text each other good luck though, and then talk on the phone at night.   
  
"How do you think you did in Calculus?" Harry asks, and Louis can't help but laugh.   
  
"Honestly, I would have done pretty bad if I didn't write the formulas on my hand first."   
  
Harry giggles, a soft shuffling heard through the phone. "Louis!"   
  
Louis laughs. "What? I care about my grades, Harold! Can't go around failing maths, can I?"   
  
Harrys breathy laughs keep tangling up the phone lines like they're tangling up Louis' heart. "I'm good at math," Harry says softly.   
  
Louis smiles. "Of course you are, little love. Maybe I should take advantage of that and make you help me."   
  
"Yeah," Harry's voice is soft and breathy, "we could do homework after school together. I could help."   
  
"I'd like that," he replies, flipping over onto his stomach and laying his head over one of his arms.   
  
"Yeah," Harrys murmurs, "me too."   
  
"You know, Harry Styles," Louis starts, "with the way you're sounding right now I'd say you have a crush on me!"   
  
Harry laughs. "What, me? Never!"   
  
"Well that's too bad, what am I supposed to do with mine? I guess I'll just have to tuck it back away. Maybe I'll hide it in my mathsbook, never to be seen again."   
  
Harrys giggles get more uncontrollable, so pretty and adorable, Louis can practically feel his smile through the phone line. All Louis can do is press his into his own phone and hope Harry can feel his too.   
  
"You're sounding bonkers, Lou. I'd say you and your little crush need some sleep."   
  
"Oh, you're tired? Why didn't you just say so?" Louis grins.   
  
" _Stop_ ," Harry drags out with a pretty laugh.   
  
"Okay, okay. I'll let those dimples rest 'en, love."   
  
"I love you," Harry says through a smile, clearly not thinking of what he's saying. And it's not the first time Louis heard him say it, of course not, but it's the most casual and natural and intimate he's ever heard it.   
  
It's too late to take it back, Louis' heart is beating out of his chest.   
  
"I-I'm sorry," Harry stutters out, "I didn't - it just slipped."   
  
Louis swallows. "I guess-" he starts, voice feeling unused all of a sudden, "I guess if you're sorry about it, I'll just have to tuck mine away somewhere then. Maybe I'll put this one in the science book."   
  
It's quiet for a couple beats too long, charged energy between them. But then Harry breaks out into this ridiculously happy giggle and Louis' heart feels soft inside his chest.   
  
"I'm going to bed," he announces through laughter, "good luck tomorrow."   
  
"Sweet dreams, babe. You'll do great tomorrow," Louis says, so sure. "And Harry?"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"I love you too."   
  
  


_______________________________________

  
  


Friday is the last day of school before winter break, cold and so crisp out. Louis skips the turnoff to the high school and continues to where he now knows Harry lives.

 

He sees the boy in the headlights of his truck, head bowed and headphones in as he walks along the side of the road in the dark, yellow backpack snug on his shoulders. The poor boy is in a giant ski sweater, fleece leggings, boots, a beanie, scarf, and even has mittens on his hands, yet his nose and cheeks are as red as roses.

 

Louis finds it endearing, turns his heat up to full blast and flicks the cab light on so Harry knows for sure its him, and slows next to the boy.

 

Harry looks inside with big doe eyes and blinks slowly. Then, a smile stretches over his lips and Louis copies it, his heart fluttering, aching, _yearning_. He reaches over and unlocks the truck door with a tremor in his hand, pushing it open, and Harry quickly climbs inside.

 

“Oh, it's so warm in here!” Harry exclaims, yet wastes no time in sliding into the middle seat of the truck, pressing himself up close to Louis’ side. That's all he has time to do, fortunately, because Louis has a hand around his neck and the other one cupping his jaw, and his lips are heavy pressed to his.

 

Harry gasps at the surprise kiss, eyes fluttering closed as his sinks into the touch. He places his hand over Louis’ that's cupping his jaw, slowly, and so gently.

  
When they pull away, Harry is still smiling, eyes closed. Louis’ hands tremble as he looks over Harry's face. He takes the hand that's holding the back of Harry’s neck and traces his cheekbone softly, breathing out.

 

“I can love you,” he says, taking a deep breath, “I'm- I'm not ready to- loudly- I don't- I don't know if I ever could in a place like this but I can always be yours.”

 

Harry leans back in and kisses Louis, “Please. That's all I want.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“I promise, Louis.” Harry says seriously, “I told you, I don't want to be out either. Not here, it's hard enough dealing with the assumptions. I just want to be able to love you, and for you to love me.”

 

“I do,” Louis says so, _so_ quickly, pressing his lips to Harry's again, “I have for so long, I have.”

 

Harry smiles against his lips, pulling one of Louis’ hands from his face and tangling their fingers together.

 

“Does this mean we can be bro-friends now?”

 

Louis snorts, pulling away and laughing so _loud_ , so _happy_. “How long have you been planning to say that, then?”

 

“As soon as you said bro's before hoes.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes and kisses Harry again and again and again. Quick pecks that make his body melt. “You're so ridiculous,” he murmurs, “and I want nothing more than to be your bro-friend.”

 

Harry preens, smile spreading across his face, his dimples like craters in the moon. Louis presses his thumb into one of the indents, before pulling away.

 

“Buckle up then, love. Gotta get to school.”

 

“Can I stay in the middle seat? Or would you rather me sit on the side.”

 

“Stay close to me,” Louis says softly, despite his nerves of looking suspicious. He knows he can get through any homophobia, he knows that there's more outside of the small place he lives.

 

Besides, Harry holds his hand all the way to school, tells him about the book he finished just last night and how it made him cry.

 

They get to school a bit early and Louis sneaks a kiss. It makes Harry blush, eyelashes fluttering and the biggest grin spreading across his face.

 

Before first block starts Harry nudges Louis with his arm, asks with these pretty pink cheeks if Louis wants to spend the night because his mom's not going to be home.

 

Louis’ heart races and he nods his head yes.

 

He swears he has never had a better day at school.

 

_______________________________________

  


Harry cooks Louis dinner, and whilst doing so they learn about each other, like favorite colours, and animals, and foods. Biggest dreams, worst experiences, ridiculous fears.  
  
Louis sits on the countertop in his sweats and shirt, and every time Harry scuttles by he smacks his bum or steals a kiss. Harrys cheeks remain dusted in pink and Louis blossoms inside himself.   
  
They laugh and tease and eat at the table across from each, playing footsie and stealing each other's food and learning more about each other.   
  
(Most embarrassing moments, dream house, a secret little to no ones knows other than being gay.)   
  
They bake cookies together afterwards, sneaking chaste kisses. Louis steals bits of cookie dough and Harry playfully scolds him but let's Louis keep doing it. Harry makes sure to smack Louis' bum though when his hand is covered in flour (and then he takes a picture of the handprint to make his lockscreen.)   
  
Whilst the cookies are baking they sit at the table and talk about their families more in depth. Harry also giggles in Louis' mouth a lot because Louis keeps tickling his sides.   
  
(Louis keeps thinking, _how is it even possible to be so happy?_ )   
  
They curl up in the quiet room under Pendleton blankets and eat cookies with milk. Whilst doing so, they go on YouTube and show each other their all time favorite songs, and songs that remind them of one another, and songs that are just very personal.   
  
Louis' never opened up so easily with anyone and especially so fast. He's never felt so comfortable and connected with anyone like this, so at peace.   
  
At one point, when their plate of cookies are gone and milk glasses empty, Harry is sitting across from him, cross-legged and talking animatedly, eyes shining and hands moving and head tilting. Louis is so mesmerised.   
  
And then there's the moment after they've washed their dishes up. Louis is recounting a story to Harry about the time their dishwasher exploded, and Harrys sitting on the island countertop, picking strawberries out of a bowl and pressing them against his lips.   
  
"It was pretty wild," Louis finishes, listening to Harrys beaming laughter.   
  
He steps up to the boy's legs and runs his fingertips over his knees.   
  
Harry subconsciously spreads his legs for Louis to step between. "I'm never getting a dishwasher now," he giggles, picking the stem from a strawberry then pressing it to Louis' lips.   
  
Neither Harry or Louis seem to notice how intimate the moment is until Louis' lips are skimming Harrys fingertips and their breath simultaneously hitches.   
  
Louis runs his fingertips over Harrys sides as he chews the strawberry, room charged and quiet, and he makes eye contact the moment he licks his lips.   
  
Then they're kissing, mouths already open as their lips touch. Harrys hands are in Louis' hair and Louis' hands are pulling Harry closer to him by his hips.   


They kiss like they're running out of time, messy and fervent, ridiculously messy. Their breathing is so thick, so heavy in the air. God, they can't get enough of each other.

  
It's Harry who pulls away first, after minutes of sucking on each other's tongues and exploring. Mischief is in his eyes, lips wet. He says, "I heard you wank to thoughts of me in skirts."   
  
Louis squeezes Harrys sides. "Hard not too."   
  
"Hm," Harry hums, "and what would you do if I went and put one on now?"   
  
Louis makes a low noise, pulling Harry down to kiss him roughly. "I'd have to stop myself from wrecking you."   
  
Harry grins, pushing Louis back and hoping off the counter. He grabs Louis' hand and drags him to the guest bedroom. "Stay here, I'll be right back."   
  
Louis groans at the thought of what's going to happen, what he's _positive_  is going to happen, and his dick is already straining his pants, he's so hard.   
  
Everything about Harry has him overwhelmed. The boy is so quirky and lively and all these things Louis admires. Being near him alone makes him feel charged, like he has to touch. The pull he feels with the boy is unlike anything he's ever felt and he just wants more. Always more.   
  
When Harry comes back, Louis' flooded. The boy- _his_  boy- is wearing the same thing from the other day, a pretty red pleated skirt with Louis' white football jersey tucked in. The boy does a spin, smile coy with Tomlinson 28 printed on the back.   
  
"You look so good, Harry, oh my god," Louis says, mouthwatering. He can't believe how turned on he is, because he's never ever felt this way with a girl, so filled with desire and need and _fuck._   
  
Harrys cheeks are pink and he bites his lip. "I've honestly never done this before," he admits with a smile, embarrassed, "I'm not sure where to go from here."   
  
Louis lets out a laugh, fond and endeared, and Harry smiles back, standing awkwardly and playing with the hem of his skirt. It's a reminder that though Harrys gotten off with guys before, he's never gone all the way. They were all just one time quickies whilst in the city with his sister. Louis' actually the experienced one here with how sex usually works out between couples and not flings.   
  
"C'mere," Louis says brightly, motioning Harry toward him, "I really wanna kiss you right now."   
  
Then Harrys in his lap, pressing these giggled kisses all over his face before pushing Louis to lay on the bed and going down with him, finally touching their lips together.   
  
It's sweet and a little dirty, shy tongues and sluggish pecks. Harry kisses like he wants all of Louis and Louis gives, gives, gives because he wants Harry to take every piece of him and more   
  
His hands, one cupping Harrys jaw and the other the small of his back, stay chaste, just burning in the sweet moment with this gorgeous boy. This gorgeous boy that turned his world upside down and finally made him want to embrace himself.   
  
For the longest time that's all they do, lazily makeout with one another and caress softly. It's something neither of them have experienced. They're young and safe in this house with all the time in the world to explore and touch and love.   
  
Eventually though, after Louis' shifted his leg and caused their half-hard cocks to rub together, Harry kisses a little more hard. He trails his hand to the back of his skirt and pulls the zipper down, making Louis' eyelashes flutter open at the sound.   
  
Harry sits up, letting the back of his skirt hang open as he straddles Louis' waist and runs his fingertips down Louis' arms, feeling his fevered skin and strong biceps. Meanwhile Louis stares up at the boy like he's never seen anything more beautiful, eyes soft and the slightest smile gracing his lips. He rubs his thumbs over Harrys knees and let's Harry do as he wants.   
  
Harry peels Louis' shirt off of him, sitting back up and just tracing the outlines of muscles and getting a feel for Louis' chest and stomach and skin.   
  
"You're beautiful, Lou," he murmurs. It's so quiet, is the thing, soft and quiet and private. They're alone in the house but the air in the room, the energy, it feels hazy and sweet, like anything above whispers and murmurs is enough to break it.   
  
Louis' heart flutters at the compliment, cheeks turning pink, and Harry leans back down and kisses him again, gentle and exploring.   
  
Louis' hands trail Harrys back, and now that the back of his skirt is open and the jersey loosened and untucked, he can slip his hands underneath and feel Harrys heated skin, the dimples at the bottom of his spine and the small curve of his back.   
  
Harry lays himself directly on top of Louis, hands going to his hair and lazily playing with it as their tongues swirl together.   
  
Louis' hand soon trails down Harrys back and toward the swell of Harrys bum, and his fingertips stutter upon arrival of soft lace. Louis traces the waistline with cautious touches, doesn't dive beneath until Harrys breaking their kiss and pressing their foreheads together, breathing "Please."   
  
Louis is in love with the panties adorning Harrys bum and hips. When Harry stands to shed his skirt, Louis sits back up at the end of the bed and places soft hands on Harrys even softer hips. Harry lifts Louis' jersey so he can have a proper look, and Louis does just that. He traces the hemlines of the petal pink lace, thumbs over the dainty bow in the centre, and leans forward to press a kiss to Harrys tummy.   
  
"Do you like them?" Harry asks, so quietly.   
  
Louis can't even take his eyes off the lace. "I love them," he whispers, looking up to catch Harrys eyes, "I love you."   
  
So Harry lays Louis back down on the bed, and they kiss and touch and love. They lay side by side and Harry breaks the slow but heated makeout by taking one of Louis' hands and folding back the thumb and pinky. Louis watches mesmerized as Harry sucks the three fingers into his mouth, eyes open and gazing into Louis', sucking them slowly but so eagerly.   
  
When Harry pulls the fingers from his mouth, a trail of spit follows, connecting them. Harry presses himself firmly to Louis and mutters another quiet, "please."   
  
Louis kisses Harry slow and filthy, one hand on Harrys ass cheek and the other slowly pumping two fingers into him. Harrys half laid over him, moaning quietly and breathing into Louis' mouth, rocking back on Louis' fingers and begging for more, always more.   
  
Louis slides the third finger in slowly, recognising that the drag is a bit dry but continuing anyway because Harry is making pretty little gasping noises and encouraging him too with his messy kisses and desperate rutting.   
  
His hands are gripping at Louis' hair, eyelashes fluttering against Louis' cheeks, God, Louis can't believe this feeling, this overpowering feeling that's just washing over him. He always knew that being with another guy would feel so much better than all his girl experiences, but he literally never would have guessed it would have felt this good, this overwhelming. Even more so than his previous experiences with Harry, when they were rushed and he was insecure.   
  
But now Harry's panting against his cheek and whimpering, _'fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,'_  and Louis' sure he's soaking his pants with precum.   
  
"Love," Louis whispers, curling his fingers inside the boy, "sure it's not too fast?"   
  
Harry whimpered, shifting his hips down before taking a deep breath and steadying himself. "Is it too fast for you?" he asks, obviously trying his hardest not to fuck down again, "because I'm just, _God_ , Louis. I've been in love with you since that night and I just, I'm ready. I'm so ready if you are."   
  
Louis' breath catches in his throat at the new information, and he has to pull his fingers from Harrys hole just so he can cup Harrys face the way it deserves to be, cradled gently. "I love you," Louis murmurs against his lips, "I love you so fucking much it hurts."   
  
Harry sighs when Louis' lips fully press to his, body going lax on top of Louis' as they kiss softly. Softly until Louis decides to trail his hands from Harrys face to his sides and tickle him, making the boy jerk and bark out laughter.   
  
"Louis!" he laughs, rolling off the boy to get away.   
  
Louis quickly straddles the boy, pinning the boy's wrists down. It make the boys breath hitch, which Louis stores in the back of his head. But for now all he does is lean down and give the boy a chaste kiss.   
  
"I want you so bad," he murmurs, instantly reverting back to the prior mood.   
  
Harry groans. "Yes, please. Take me."   
  
Louis kisses the boy's cheek. "Not without lube, though."   
  
"My room," Harry breathes, and Louis gets off Harry and gathers their clothes. Harry is still in his panties and jersey, and Louis wants to come in his pants at the sight of his little bum jiggling as he walks down the landing to his room.   
  
As soon as they're in Harrys room, Louis drops the clothes and looks to see Harry pulling lube from his drawer and then lying on his bed. The boy lays on his back, teeth biting into his bottom lip and his cheeks are so pink. Louis is mesmerized by the sight.   
  
"C'mere, please," he says softly, batting his eyelashes.   
  
Louis does, always will.   
  
He strips himself of his pants before crawling onto the bed, his cock heavy between his legs. He knees his way between Harrys legs until he's pressed up against Harrys lace covered bum and the boys legs are resting over his thighs.   
  
"You look so pretty right now," Louis breathes in disbelief. He leans forward, placing his elbows by Harrys face.   
  
The boys long hair is fanned out around his head, and Louis plays with the pieces he can touch whilst just looking over Harrys face.   
  
"You're staring," Harry says, laughing breathlessly.   
  
Louis grins. "Sorry, love. Do you need your kisses now?" he teases.   
  
Harry pouts playfully, nodding. "And for you to fuck me, please."   
  
"Filthy," Louis mutters, but doesn't stop himself from pressing his lips back to Harrys, mouth opening and tongues meeting immediately. Harry wraps his legs around Louis' hips and tightens them, making Louis grind into his ass.   
  
Louis feels the wetness of Harrys precum against his stomach, feels the lace dragging against his wet, fevered skin there. He has to break the kiss to get a good look because there's no way he can't take a peek at his dick.   
  
And God. Harrys cock is still as pretty as ever. Long and pink and so, so wet. His foreskin is pulled back and veins prominent. Louis loves it so much, wants to touch and taste.   
  
He kisses softly down Harrys torso after rucking the jersey up, stopping to lick at one of his pretty little rose bud nipples. Harry arches up at the touch, hands flying up to cradle Louis’ head as he sucks and licks at the boy's chest, most beautiful whimpers falling left and right.

 

When he gets down to the waistband of the panties, Harry shudders. Louis stops to look at him, sees his lips red and bitten, same as his pretty nipples. His eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, _pretty, beautiful, gorgeous._

 

Louis leans forward to him a chaste kiss before moving back down. "I-I've never done this before," he says, peeling Harrys panties back and letting the boys gorgeous cock bounce free. He takes another deep breath before leaning down and gently kissing the pink head of Harrys cock, smearing the boys sticky wetness over his lips. He laps it up and moans at the taste, because Harry has a distinct sweetness to him, probably from all the healthy eating.  
  
He licks at the underside a bit, appreciating Harrys salty skin and the way his cock twitches against his lips. Harrys hips jerk a bit every time Louis' lips press against his cock, shots of pleasure coursing through him.   


Carefully, Louis takes the boy into his mouth, sucking at the tip a little to get used to everything. He inhales through his nose before sinking down a bit, feeling the heat and ridges of the boys cock in his mouth, on his tongue. He stills once he gets half of the boys dick in his mouth, breathing deeply through his nose, trying to get used to the feeling of his mouth being filled with cock. After a few moments, he pulls up, moaning at the sweet drag.   
  
He presses kisses down the side of the boys length before taking him back in his mouth again, surprised at how well he seems to be getting the hang of it. He loves every second of it though, loves having the weight in his mouth, the heat.   
  
Even better, Harry is making all these soft noises above him, encouraging him with his breathless whines and choked whimpers. It's so beautiful, makes Louis feel so whelmed, his cock so fucking hard.

  
"Lou," the boy gasps, his hands tangled in the sheets beside him, and Louis finally decides to pop off.   
  
"Hm?” He hums against the boys cock, lapping all over the length of it.

  
Harry whines, shifting his hips down though there's nothing there. Louis smiles, brings his hand up to the boys face and thumbs at his bottom lip, so red and pretty.   
  
"Please, want you inside me," Harry whines all breathy, "literally finger myself every night thinking about it. Please, please, _please._ "   
  
Louis feels his cock actually twitch at Harrys words, the thought of this pretty boy writhing in bed, fingers up his ass and moaning for him, _Louis, please, yes, god_. Thinks of him pinching at his nipples, rutting into the mattress, coming over his stomach.

  
He takes a deep breath, calming himself. "Can I try something first?"   
  
Harry whines impatiently. "What is it?"   
  
"I-I wanna eat you out? Like- like I saw it in a video and I-"   
  
Harrys eyes blink open, wide. "I've never- _fuck_."   
  
"You've never done that?"   
  
Harry shakes head. "No- no one’s touched my ass before. But you can- if you want to, _god_ , please."   
  
Louis nods, looking around the room for a minute before scooting off the bed. "Come like- lay down at the edge?"   
  
Harry does as told, and Louis decides a pillow will help so he slips one under his bum. Louis gets on his knees on the floor, hands trailing Harrys legs and thighs, and eventually pushing them back. Harry holds them there, his ass spread and perfect.   
  
Perfect. It's all Louis thinks when he sees Harrys puckered hole. It's pink and looks like bubblegum, fucking gorgeous. Louis never thought he'd find an asshole desirable but right now he's never wanted anything more, his mouth watering as he watches it flutter.   
  
His first taste is timid, not sure of how to properly go about it. But at the small drag of his tongue, Harry's breath hitches, an airy ' _oh_ ' slipping from his lips. He subconsciously pushes his hips down, wanting more, always more.   
  
Louis licks again, more confident. He knows from eating girls out that teasing helps, so he sucks on Harry's thighs a bit, trailing his lips down and then up again, biting small lovebites into the milky skin. He kisses and sucks at every place _but_  Harry’s hole, digs his nails into the boy’s skin where he’s gripping his asscheeks. The boy whines so sweetly, so desperately, breath hitch and hips jerking.   
  
Finally, he laps over Harrys pretty pink hole again, first with his tongue flattened, and then again with it pointed so he can circle the tight ring of muscles, feeling it flutter against his tongue. Harry chokes at the feeling, keeps rocking back, trying to get more, anything. All the movement gets Louis’ face sloppy with spit, but he doesn’t care, no, because harry’s ass is amazing, Louis doesn’t even understand how that can be but it is as he sucks and laps and licks.   
  
"Oh, _Louis_ ," Harry cries out, dropping his legs over Louis’ shoulder in favor of using his hands to get a handful of his hair, trying to bury Louis’ face further in his ass.   
  
Louis spreads his cheeks with his hands, let’s Harry control his head as licks fervently over his slippery, pink hole. Harrys legs are tightening around his shoulders, the hand in his hair trying to tug him closer and closer, like _shit,_ it’s erotic and beautiful and Louis wants to do this every day for the re'st of his life.   
  
The boy starts writhing, his hips jerking and hole fluttering against the sloppy licking. He keeps letting out these breathless little noises, like he's forgetting how to breathe it feels so fucking good. And when Louis finally points his tongue and he nudges his tongue inside, the boy actually does choke on a sob, crying out and pulling Louis’ face closer, hole clenching on his tongue.   
  
Louis presses his teeth into Harrys puffy rim experimentally, nipping lightly and the lapping over the spot.   
  
"Louis- _Lou_ , I'm- I'm gonna-" the boy chokes on a sob, rocking his hips down roughly against Louis, and Louis decides then to point his tongue so at the movement his slips back inside the boy.   
  
He feels Harrys hole tighten around his tongue, hips jerking and the prettiest little cry falling from the boy's lips as he rides his face.   
  
Then the boy's legs are falling pliant, hand loosening in Louis' hair. Little breathless whimpers are still occasionally coming from Harry, and Louis just- he has to _see_  him.   
  
He crawls over Harry's body, helps him up the rest of the mattress. The boy’s cheeks are wet with tear, lips cherry red and hair a mess. Louis bites his lip in worry, laying beside the boy and wrapping his arms around him, _worried._   
  
"Harry, what's wrong, love? Why are you crying?" Louis murmurs, eyes raking over the boy’s flushed and wet face, confused and a bit scared.   
  
"Just felt so good-" the boy says through a sniffle, "never felt anything like that before."   
  
Louis sighs, grin taking over his face. He kisses Harrys face all over until the boy breaks into a wet giggle, flushed cheeks gorgeous.

 

"Are you going to fuck me now?" the boy asks, and Louis all but gapes.  
  
"What? You've already came!"   
  
Harry sniffles, pouts. "I can come again, please, _please_."   
  
Louis kisses Harry deeply, smiling when Harry whines against his mouth. "Another time, yeah?"   
  
Harry pushes Louis so he's on his back, then scoots himself down between Louis’ legs. He sighs dramatically. "Guess I’ll just have to suck you."   
  
Louis half laughs, half groans when Harry’s hand wraps around his length. "You're quite the little minx, aren't you?"   
  
Harry has the decency to blush, flicking his wrist on every upstroke of Louis' cock. He kisses down the length, then licks sloppily back up, getting it soaked in spit. “For you,” he murmurs.

 

A filthy moan leaves his lips as Harry takes him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and massaging the underside of his cock with his tongue. Harry bobs up and down quickly, spit already spilling from the corners of his mouth.

 

When he pulls off, he immediately goes to suckling on Louis’ sac, and Louis all but gasps at the feeling. The girls he’s had suck him off never touched his balls when they were getting down to business, and the one girl who had immediately stopped to complain about having a hair in her mouth. But Harry, _god_. Harry is just going at it, rolling them between his fingers and sucking them one at a time into his mouth, and Louis just. He’s way too close to coming.

 

He tangles his fingers in his boys hair and pulls, and in return he gets a small gasp, Harry momentarily falling pliant. When they meet eyes, Louis groans, pulling again. “Kiss, please,” he mutters.

 

Harry crawls back up to Louis, still stroking him in his hand. His face is covered in spit from how he was slobbering on Louis’ cock, but Louis kisses him eagerly, biting on his lip and tangling a hand in his hair to tug on.

 

And god, Harry makes that same little noise, low and whimpered and beautiful.

 

“Hair pulling, eh?” Louis breaks the kiss to joke, but it doesn’t really feel like a joke with the way his voice is rough, and how Harry whimpers, and the way his cocks being tugged on.

 

“Love it,” he groans, sucking dark marks into the skin on Louis’ neck, “like being controlled.”

 

“Fuck,” Louis mutters, hips jerking up. He yanks Harry’s hair again to pull him up for a bruising kiss. “That's so hot,” he bites Harry's lips, “gonna have so much fun with you.”

 

“Please,” Harry breathes into Louis mouth, thumbing pressing into the spot below the head of Louis’ cock. Louis groans, hips bucking up, and he tugs on the boy's hair just to hear that pretty little noise again.

 

“Fuck yes,” Louis grits, eyebrows furrowed. Harry pecks Louis’ lips chastely before getting back between his legs. He sucks Louis into his mouth and bobs a few times before pulling off and pressing the pink tip to his bottom lip, mouth open and waiting. With one hand he's massaging Louis’ sac and the other is jerking him fast, sound of tugged skin loud in the room.

 

But God. Harrys _face_. He's so flushed and eager, eyelashes damp and clumped together, lips red and puffy and parted. Louis only gets a grunt out before his come is splashing on Harry's face. White streaks covering those pretty plush lips and red apple cheeks. Louis would come again at just the sight if he could, wants to get a camera and take a picture for later, god, his boy is so beautiful.

 

His _boy_.

 

Harry bites his lip, licking up the come and waiting for Louis to wipe the bit from his eyelashes. Louis does do this, he wipes all of the spunk from Harry’s face with his fingers, murmuring to him. “So beautiful, fuck. So perfect, that’s what you are, _god_.”

 

And of course Harry catches Louis’ hand and sucks all of the come from his fingers, has to flutter his ridiculously long eyelashes and make a humming noise and get Louis all worked up again. God knows he has to kiss the boy again ( and again and again.)

 

”God you're so perfect.” Louis murmurs against his lips, pulling Harry’s body closer, only hissing slightly at the oversensitivity of his dick. He just wants Harry closer, always closer. “Can't believe you were begging to be fucked like that, Jesus.”

 

Harry pulls back and has the decency to flush. “Shut up, I've liked you a long time! You don't even want  know how many nights I've wanked to the thought of you fucking me.”

 

Louis grins, kissing Harrys nose. “A long time? How longs a long time?”

 

Harry giggles, nosing his way into the crook of Louis’ neck, smiling against the soft skin there that’s salty sweet. “You’re going to laugh at me, though,” he murmurs shyly, sweet and soft like a little schoolboy, pout pressed to Louis’ neck. But he’s happy and smiling and snuggling in closer to Louis, smelling and kissing and touching.

 

Louis pulls back and nudges his nose against Harry’s head, the arm wrapped around his back glides up and down softly, tracing his boy’s soft skin. “C’mon,” he asks, “please tell me.”

 

As a reinforcement he drags his hand over Harry’s side and tickles him, making the boy squawk out the most horrendously adorable laugh. Harry’s laugh tickles Louis’ neck, the boy squirming and making effortless kicks.

 

“Okay, okay!” Harry laughs, “I’ll tell you!”

 

Louis smiles smugly, wrapping his arms back around the boy’s back and pulling back to look him in the eyes, scrunching his nose up with a grin. Harry huffs a light laugh, nosing his way back into the crook of Louis’ neck.

 

Harry sighs contently. “I’ve had a crush on you since 7th grade,” he says, “and before you can start apologising again for what you did I’ll have you know that I’ve had other crushes since then,” he pauses, “but I guess my feelings for you just sort of always stuck compared to all the other guys. You always smiled at me in the hallway and I would think about it all day in class.”

 

Louis feels warmth spread through his body, his nose scrunching up in a genuine laugh. Harry laughs too, shaking his head and biting at his bottom lip. Louis tries, he does, but he just has to lean forward and kiss those smiling lips.

 

It’s a good thing that he does, too. Because nothing has ever felt better than Harry’s smile pressing to his own, the content little noise that leaves the boy’s lips as he turns pliant against Louis. It’s beautiful, something Louis actively feels across his body. Something feels so complete about being here with Harry.

 

The kiss turns slow and sensual fast, smiles fading and eyes closing. Louis burns with love as he slowly moves his lips and catches Harry’s between his, more like an embrace than anything. The way Harry’s breaths skim across his cheek make him shudder, make his chest fill with something akin to whelmed flutters. He’s never felt something so soft and so intense.

 

When Louis pulls away, it’s because he has to. He has to say so many things because he feels like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get it out. Harry gives him these overwhelming feelings and Louis wants to let him know that. He wants to let him know that he’s always made him feel so deeply affected, right down to his bones.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes still closed, nose still skimming Harry’s cheek. Harry lifts his chin so their lips skim together in another tender kiss. Louis stills, lets their lips stay pressed together, wet and warm and he wonders how he’s not shaking. He moves a hand to Harry’s jaw, caresses softly, and moves away so he can stare into Harry’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Harry whispers back, trying to dip back in for a kiss that Louis stops.

 

“No, Harry. I - I made you wait. I just let you wonder if I’d ever call or text and - and fuck, that’s so shitty,” Louis bites his lip, “I hurt you and I’m so, so sorry for that.”

 

Harry pushes Louis’ shoulder so he’s lying on his back, and he crawls on top of him, straddling his waist. He takes Louis’ hands in his own and grasps their fingers together. “You're worth it,” he whispers, reassuring smile spreading across his face, “you're so worth it, Lou.”

 

Louis slips his hands from Harrys and trails them up his arms, guides them over his shoulders and down his waist where he wraps them around, pulling Harry flat to his chest in a tight hug. “I watched you so much,” he murmurs, “it was probably pretty obvious that I was head over heels for you.”

 

Harry giggles, nodding. “It was pretty obvious, yeah. It’s why I thought you were worth it, though. You weren’t an asshole to me or anything, and you weren’t capable of pretending like nothing happened,” Harry kisses his neck, “you were affected too and that was reassuring.”

 

Louis exhales a shaky breath. “God,” he mutters, “you’re so mature, fuck, it’s unbelievable. You just see so much and understand.”

 

Harry nuzzles his neck, smiling shyly. Louis drags his fingers up and down Harry’s back, slowly, lightly using his nails draw shapes.

 

“You're okay with it, then? Being gay?”

  


“Yeah,” he reaffirms, “think I was ready to start being… okay with it,” he takes a breath, reaching a hand up and caressing Harry’s cheek, “just didn't know how, or where to start.”

 

 

________________________________________

  
  
  


After that, they take things slow.   
  
They spend Christmas break getting to know each other, because apparently between a 7th grade science project and some messy handjobs junior year, a lot happens.   
  
They spend it bundled up, drinking hot cocoa with extra marshmallows and laughing over childhood memories. They cuddle in the quiet room, under thick blankets, hushed words of details and secrets.   
  
They take walks through the woods behind Harry's house, making trails, holding hands whilst their noses go red and their fingers turn blue.   
  
(One of the times Harry was so cold he shoved a mitten over their clasped hands and beamed at Louis in proudness of his idea.)   
  
They go to the movie theatre on Christmas Eve, also Louis' birthday, and watch a film they know no one else would be watching. They get to sit and hold hands the entire movie, whispering to one another despite the room being empty, anything to use as an excuse to get closer to one another.   
  
(Louis leaned into Harry's ear, whispered, "What did the baby corn ask the mama corn?” he paused, “Where's popcorn?"   
  
Harry had laughed so hard it echoed off the dark walls.   
  
"Oh, cmon that was so _corn-_ y." he added, and Harry made the most embarrassing noise, body shaking with laughter as he had gripped their bucket of popcorn.   
  
"I can think of a million jokes _butter_  than that one."   
  
Harry had doubled over, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Louis was so endeared by the fact that the boy could get such a laugh out of the stupid jokes.   
  
"I'm _corn_ fused, is it making you laugh or cry?"   
  
For the rest of the movie Harry couldn't even eat their popcorn without starting to giggle.)

  
  
They kiss a lot too, mapping each other's mouths out so thoroughly they could be cartographers. Louis learned that Harry's lips were always soft, always turned red after a bit of licking and sucking, and that he really liked when Louis held his jaw open and kissed him deep and slow and a little rough.   
  
On New Year's Eve they go to rich-Nicks party together. They drink a little bit of alcohol and stand a little too close when talking; Harry gets a little too pouty when girls comes up and hang off Louis before he kindly detaches himself. Maybe they're a bit obvious but no one seems to notice it.   
  
Then again, all Louis really notices is Harry, so he wouldn't know

 

(Before the countdown starts they go upstairs and lock themselves in one of the guests bedrooms and start their own little countdown.  
  
Louis presses Harry into the mattress and kisses him rough, holds him tight. Everyone downstairs cheers when it hits 12:00 o'clock but all Harry does is smile cheekily, murmur into Louis' ear: "Let's start this New Years out with a bang."   
  
And God does Louis fuck Harry into the mattress. He wrecks his boy so beautifully, gets his curls matted and eyes glossy and lips cherry red.   
  
It's so filthy.   
  
Filthy, dirty fucking with everyone downstairs cheering.   
  
"It's for us, baby," Louis murmurs into Harry's mouth with a smirk. Harry's laugh gets cut off by his own moans when Louis fucks him even harder.   
_  
God. _   
  
They stumble downstairs with flushed faces and glossy eyes and dirty, little smirks. They stay a total of thirty minutes longer, Liam snagging Louis and trying to hook him up with this girl that digs him, but all the while he's watching Harry across the room talking with Niall, eye fucking his pretty baby.   
  
As soon as Liam gives up on hooking him up, Harry comes back over, smirks a little, bites his lip a little.   
  
They walk back to Harry's house at 1:00 in the morning because Anne's not home and they've got a few more plans for New Years.)   
  
The first couple of weeks back to school has everyone thrown off.   
  
Harry _Styles_  keeps getting out of Louis _Tomlinson's_ truck? The entirety of their small school is up in whispers, because talking to Harry, and being nice to Harry, is apparently a completely different level than being 'friends' with Harry.   
  
Louis stops hanging around his football mates now that the season's over, and instead him and Zayn start hanging out with Harry and Niall.   
  
And it's good. Eventually everyone comes to terms with the fact that Louis and Harry are apparently really good 'mates' and it becomes a normal thing to see the two of them laughing in the halls together of throwing paper balls at one another across the classroom.   
  
Despite this, Louis isn't used to not being able to show off what's his. He proudly displays all his achievements, all the things that are important to him, talks highly of all the ones he loves. Talking about Harry as a 'friend' just will never feel right.   
  
(Sometimes, he grabs Harry's hand under the desks and tables at school and shows the entire school the smile it brings to his face.)   
  
Harry's just his favorite thing. His pretty peach.   
  
Harry is his _baby_.   
  
Everything Harry does has Louis smiling fondly, has him wanting to reach out and touch, wanting to show everyone that _he_  gets to have the precious boy that is Harry Styles.   
  
(Sometimes, he sucks on Harry's neck and collarbones until deep, bruising lovebites litter his sweet, milky skin.   
  
When he does, Harry will wear these boat collared shirts that dip low on his chest. They'll meet eyes in the hall or across from a classroom, and Harry will drag his fingers across the marks like he's saying _I'm yours. I'm showing the entire world that I belong to you._   
  
God, Louis loves it.)   
  
A few times some of his football mates have made comments, little shit like "You tryna' turn Tomlinson into a fairy like you?"   
  
Harry's the strong one. Louis' strong boy, who rolls his eyes and doesn't let it get under his skin.   
  
Louis' strong too. In other ways, at least.   
  
And if it takes slamming Mark into a locker and spitting in his face to keep his fucking mouth shut, then whatever.   
  
(Harry thinks it's a little bit hot, anyway, and quickies in the janitor's closet are always worth it.)

 

There are days that are a bit harder than others, though. Days when he hears people say things about _gay_  people, hears them spit the word like it burns their tongues.   
  
Days when he looks at Harry from across the classroom and gets sucked into how beautiful he is, days when he wants to be able to grab his hand in front of everyone, kiss him hard in front of everyone, tell him he loves him in front of _everyone._   
  
(There are days when Louis' love just can't be contained, doesn't want to be.)   
  
He has his mom, though, and Zayn and Niall and even Niall's girlfriend.   
  
And he has Harry, _always_ has Harry. So he gets through those days.   
  
Besides, there's a month and a half of the school year left. Then they're moving to a nice, little city to begin community college. They've got job applications filled and ready to be turned in, and their flat is on hold waiting for them, two bedrooms because Zayn's rooming with them whilst he goes to his pretentious art school.   


They're excited for it, ready to be able to go on dates and hold hands and love each other loud just as good as they can quiet.  


For now though, Louis watches Harry in the hallway. The prettiest thing of his world, in a lavender sweater and deep dimples, laughing at whatever Niall had said to him.

 

They make eye contact, and his smile softens.  Louis walks over to him, murmurs a small ‘ _hey._ ’

 

They bump shoulders, a silent ‘I love you,’

 

and nobody but them knows.

**Author's Note:**

> comment/kudos
> 
> thanks for reading pals :-)
> 
> snapchat/tumblr: wankerville


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